


somebody who takes it slow (not today)

by Snickerdoodles143



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arithmancy (Harry Potter), BAMF Hermione Granger, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Time Travel, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickerdoodles143/pseuds/Snickerdoodles143
Summary: Hermione Granger decided being propelled through time and space was a lot like being tortured by Bellatrix. She wanted nothing to do with either scenario.Hermione Black knows where her loyalties lie; her timeline may have forgotten her, but she’s not yet forgotten it. She’s going to change everything.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 204
Kudos: 844





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my first ever fanfic! I've been a fanfic reader for ten years and I've read thousands of stories. I've fallen in life with characters and been on adventures with them and lives a whole other life through these stories and this is in my small way me giving back to the amazing authors who've shared their stories with me. Thank you for your worlds, I hope you enjoy mine!

The truth about war that was left unmentioned to her when she first started running around with Harry was that even in its quietest moments, it was exhausting. Every moment of it was tiring. She woke up every morning on high alert. She ate, knowing she might have to give up her ration of grains. She slept in fear of waking up. 

The knowledge probably wouldn’t have made a difference to her. Her fate was sealed ten years ago when she threw her lot in with the two boys who saved her from a troll. She had lied to an authority figure, and from that moment on, Hermione Granger would jump without looking as long as Harry and Ron were ahead or behind her. 

It was a shame neither of them was around to jump first anymore. 

As she picked through the underbrush, she mentally tallied up what she would need to scourge for the next day. There were eleven children in the cave she was hiking towards, and she would need to find enough food and supplies for them to last the week. Given Ginny’s half-mad, half-brilliant plan for their upcoming mission, Hermione figured it might be best to leave them with extras in case she didn’t make it back. 

In the months since Harry died, everyone was feeling reckless. Britain had become a veritable battle zone. Voldemort was unable to create a power base on the continent but was doing enough damage that the muggles noticed. And when the muggles saw a threat they couldn’t fight directly, they got angry. 

The result was a full-blown war: mundane versus magical, wizards against wizards. 

Witches and wizards who weren’t interested in fighting for their lives anymore, apparated or took the rare- and expensive- portkey out of Britain, only to be rounded up by muggle authorities with magic restraining devices. The wizards who helped the muggle authorities develop magical restraints might be the only ones more hated than Voldemort at the moment. 

The Salem witch trials had nothing on the new world order.

For all magic could do, in the end, it was a numbers game. For every thousand wizards, there were ten million muggles. When threatened, the muggles were quick to pull out their machine guns and hydrogen bombs and nuclear weapons. A quick protego couldn't stop the onslaught of fifty bullets per second. 

Hermione was no fool. Given a few more months of warfare, the muggle government was likely to evacuate Britain and bomb it clean of magic. 

The arithmancy was not easily fooled either. Every version of every equation she ran had the same result. Voldemort and his cronies were slowly eradicating magic from the world. Magic was dying, and once magic disappeared, humanity would follow. 

Purebloods had conveniently forgotten that magic was not bound to only them and their families. Each person, even muggles, had some magic. For the muggles whom purebloods derisively sneered at, this magic was muted. It was coiled tighter in their cores and expressed in different ways than wand-waving or potion-making. 

Some people were charismatic beyond words, and some could always make the perfect coffee. There were muggles with “healing hands” or eidetic memories. Some had “green thumbs” and others would never forget a face. Sure they were unable to cast a simple lumos, but why bother when they could switch on a lightbulb and shore up their magical reserves for greater feats. Regardless of the type of magic, without balance, it would eat away at a core. 

For every wizard's life taken, some corresponding number of muggles' lives were lost as well. For each muggle killed by magic, a handful of Wizarding lives were lost. Eventually, this war would eradicate all life. 

Hermione wasn’t sure if she cared enough to prevent the extinction of magic and the human race anymore. It had been years since Harry, Ron, and the Forest Of Dean, and there was no end in sight. 

Ron teaching her to skip rocks, so reminiscent of her swotty ’Swish and flick Ronald. Swish and flick.” felt like a moment from a life long past. 

She shook those maudlin thoughts away. Her chest hurt. 

Ginny’s latest mad plan involved breaking into Hogwarts to steal from the potion stores leftover. Ginny was convinced they could get in through the secret underground tunnels and get out safely. She conveniently neglected to plan for the dementors that eagerly prowled the grounds of Hogwarts for their next meal.

Could any of them even cast a patronus anymore? 

Hermione didn’t care if she made it out safe. She was tired. 

She lopped around a circle of trees to the front of her security runes. After muttering a distinction spell, the runes opened up into a series of twelve. Each rune was targeted to someone who inhabited the cave permanently- one for each child in the cave and one for her. This way, even if someone inside the cave gave up the location of the cave, unless all the other occupants agreed of their own free will that the newcomer wished them no harm, they would be denied entry (and subjected to various curses and hexes that Ginny had made up at her most unforgiving).

She worked through each rune quickly, stopping for a moment when a particularly cruel rune bit into her pinky. 

Loretta, a Muggleborn who’s parents were bitten by Greyback, had an uncanny talent for grey hexes, and she always made her runes mean. Once Hermione disentangled the runes, she stepped forward delicately avoiding the many magical and mundane traps set for intruders before knocking on an inner wall on the left side of the cave. 

Once, twice, thrice. 

From the darkness of the cave, there was a bright flash of lumos that had her wincing.

Suddenly there was a wand at her throat. 

If anyone else had seen the sight, they might’ve laughed, but Hermione had raised and trained most of these kids for three years now. She knew how dangerous they could be. Four children, all under the age of eleven, were arranged in a loose semi-circle around her. Only one had a wand, and the rest had their fists up, almost in a fighting stance. A single punch would not do much damage to Hermione, but a wandless stupefy from any of them would keep her knocked out enough for Loretta to use Bellatrix’s cursed wand to perform a quick obliviate. The intruder would find themselves suddenly unable to survive without eating fresh curry daily in the bazaar streets of Delhi. This was the best-case scenario for the intruder, as the war had not yet reached the Eastern parts of Asia or South Africa, where magic and folk tales were so inextricably linked that they weren’t as quickly erased as in Britain. 

“Hi, Hermione!” Connor waved excitedly. Hermione smiled back at him but didn’t speak. 

Loretta sent him a sharp look, and he stepped back. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the security protocols, it had just been so long since they last saw Hermione, and he had been hungry and excited, and the protocols were just so dumb right now! 

“What did you call Slughorn when he said he couldn’t get any more potion supplies to you from Hogwarts?” 

Hermione smiled. That was an interesting discussion. “A two-faced self-serving bootlicker if I remember correctly.” 

Loretta laughed and something inside the younger girl released. She looked more her age than she had seconds ago. She nodded to Connor, and the two girls behind him, Jamie and Sammy, the half-blood twins from Kensington, and the whole group relaxed. The twins grabbed a few of her bags out of her arms and scurried back to the rest of the living quarters. Connor grabbed one of her hands and started talking about his improvements to his wandless sweeping charm. 

Loretta shared a bittersweet smile with Hermione. Her hair was scraggly, and the bags under her eyes were much darker than they had been a week ago. Hermione wondered when the last time the girl had slept was. Though ten years older than Loretta, Hermione knew that they were both too young for this war. 

Men started wars; women and children died in them. 

As they sat around the bluebell fire, Connor and some of the other children were telling her stories while she mmm’d and ohh’d in all the right places. She’d been scraping through her serving of oatmeal for an hour now. Her stomach turned with unease, but she knew better than to waste food. 

Everything was quiet and she just started to feel her shoulders relax when the warning bell that someone or something was too close to their wards went off. Her head snapped up and she met Loretta’s eyes. None of the other children were worried. Squirrels and raccoons ran out by their wards often.

A minute later, the second warning bell went off. There was now an appropriate level of panic. Hermione waved her hand up, disrupting the magical energy in the air and making it pulse over the children like a soft wave. Harmless but effective. Every child quickly disillusioned themselves and hid as far back in the rock shelves of the cave as they could. They ran drills for these alerts daily. Loretta looked like she was going to argue with Hermione, but at the look on Hermione’s face, she sullenly tucked herself into the rocks as well. 

A small boy stepped into the cave. His steps were light but made a surprising amount of noise. He didn’t seem to be looking for anyone else besides Hermione; his eyes lit on only hers. If he was here to harm her, he wasn’t making any quick moves to do so. Hermione stepped forward, trying to keep his attention on her and away from the children. Sure he could be just another child orphaned by the war, but while the wards only let innocents in, they’d been tricked before.

There was something odd about the child. He was about six or seven years old, thinner than he should be, although with the state of things that wasn’t unexpected. Aside from the fact that he had somehow managed to find an exceptionally warded cave sixty kilometers from the nearest still inhabited town, there was nothing special about him.

Hermione knew that short of Voldemort himself, the only other people who could break through these wards with ill intentions were dead. She’d killed them herself. 

No one over the age of 11 could get past the magically triggered land mines placed a meter in front of the wards, and the thick mist she had passed through moments earlier was spelled to remove all enchantments. Her glamour had faded, leaving her recognizable to anyone who would do her harm- these days, that was everyone except the tattered remnants of the Order. 

The kid stepped closer to her, something about him clicking deep in her mind. Wary, she still hadn’t signaled for the other children to step out from their hiding place. Hermione knew that it was well known to Voldemort and his followers that the newly titled Undesirable No. 1’s weakness was children. After all, trusting an innocent-looking child was how Harry’s luck had finally run out. 

“What’s your name, honey?” she asked as non-threateningly as possible, her wand still in her holster, but her hand lifted in front of her as if to reach out to the kid and hold his hand. Ulteriorly, her wandless magic had become infinitely more potent during the past three years of all-out war, and she was more than capable of casting a strong enough protego and stupefy if this child turned out dangerous. She wasn’t willing to put the eleven lives hiding behind her at risk for something as easily trampled as her morals anymore. 

She stood stock-still for a moment and then another and then another. 

He finally reached out and took her hand. For a moment, she felt a sense of peace wash over her before she snapped out of the artificial haze and her mind warned her of danger. Her body was frozen in place and this seemingly innocent child was the reason. She wasn’t sure how. He didn’t have a wand out, nor was he making any apparent movements. He just stood there, still and quiet, holding her hand. 

She tried to speak, but all that came out was garbled nothings. 

“I know, I know,” the boy murmured, his voice sounded too old for his small body. “It’ll make sense one day.” 

Hermione calmed her entire body, forcing herself to be still. When the boy moved closer to her, she tried to spring her muscles free and scream. She managed a pitiful whine and the twitch of one arm. 

The boy tsked as if she was extremely unreasonable. ’He should release my body-bind so I can apologize for being impolite, ’ Hermione thought. 

“Dumbledore was a silly man, you know?” The boy began conversationally, while Hermione did her best to glare at him even though her facial muscles would not allow it. “He liked to say that terrible things happened to wizards who meddled in time. Dumbledore meddled in time constantly. His actions often ended poorly, but perhaps he was more at fault for that than Lady Time.” 

Hermione was careful not to react. The Hermione of five years ago would have been outraged to think Professor Albus Dumbledore in all of his Order of Merlin, and many uses of dragon’s blood, glory did not know all the answers. But enough time, and enough watching Harry suffer for the Greater Good, all capitals implied for the full title, had shown her that great men had their faults- some more than others. 

She would never forgive him for the abuse Harry had lived through. 

As if her silence was tacit permission to prattle on, he kept talking. Hermione vowed to create a spell to disable someone’s vocal cords permanently. 

“See many were against giving you all a second chance. After all, you’d managed to muck up humanity so spectacularly.” The boy had let go of her hand and was casually strolling across the small length of the cave. He smiled and waved to where the children were hiding as if he could see them through a solid rock wall. He seemed utterly unconcerned with the way her hair was sparking in anger. 

“But honestly, you humans are so pitiful,” the child laughed. Hermione gritted her teeth together. 

“I’ve decided on a second chance for you,” he continued. “Some of the others said we should pick someone else as our Champion.” 

Hermione gritted her teeth together even harder. Pick someone else as your champion, she begged. 

“But out of the poor choices we had, you were the most amusing. Always so eager, so determined to do good. If nothing else, you’ll make for the best entertainment.” The small demon troll laughed, clapping his hands together. “So be it!” 

Hermione wished she could scream at the boy. She wanted to kick and slap and scratch at him. His hands were moving in almost familiar rune creating motions. He formed aiteall, quickly followed by some red mist that dispersed through the cave. Then he moved his arms up in sharp spikes to establish kaal and zaman separately. 

If she was less irritated, she would’ve found his rune work fascinating. He was forming them in the air, and they were sparking and functional? Amazing! But at the moment, irritating.

He continued to circle her and work quickly, while she continued to strain her neck, trying to move through the body bind to see what he was doing. Finally, he skipped back to where he started, took two giant steps forward until he was nose to nose with her and smiled. 

Hermione grimaced and continued to scream internally. She didn’t need anyone that close to her face. 

“This will be fun!” the little demon laughed as he pulled a glass orb from his front pocket. Undetectable extension charm? He said a few quick words over the sphere that Hermione couldn’t hear, before hefting the orb between both his hands and slamming it straight into her face.

She didn’t react for a moment- the trauma seemed to take time to kick in- but when it did, her outrage managed to outpace her excruciating pain.

She screamed and trashed against the body bind and silencing charm. When an unnatural wind picked up inside the cave, she kept screaming. When the fire she’d been sitting by moved as if water, to circle her, she kept screaming. Soon the water from the children’s canteens and the dirt from the bottom of the cave was circling her as well. They spun quicker and quicker while she tried to scream louder and louder. She was sure no one could hear her, but it felt better than doing nothing. 

What seemed like an eternity of pain later, the stupid small child- she should’ve hexed him immediately- smiled at her. “Cheer up, darling. You get to do it all over again!” 

With those parting words, a bright light shot at her chest, and she felt her skin tear apart, inch by inch. The glass pieces from the orb seemed to burn to a thousand degrees and melt into her bones. She was still screaming, but now she was sure the children in the cave could hear her. Most of Britain could probably hear her. 

In her final moments, all she was able to think was ‘don’t you fucking dare,’ and then all her thoughts were blissfully black.


	2. September 19th, 1966

Hermione decided being propelled through time and space was a lot like being tortured by Bellatrix. She wanted nothing to do with either scenario.

Her bones felt too big for her body. They were ripping through her skin. Her life flashed before her eyes: Bellatrix’s maniacal laugh as she stood over her trembling body, Ron teaching her to skip rocks, the taste of the sugar-free jelly beans her father used to teach her how to multiply, Harry’s shoulder shaking with laughter against hers as joked about being the chosen one: a montage of her greatest hits and biggest flops.

All this was, of course, secondary to the infinite thought of ‘kindly fucking don’t’ that Hermione was harnessing with all her willpower at the magic that had put her in this situation.

Maybe years ago, she’d dreamed of rigging a time turner to take her back to change the awful past. She was past those dreams.

She was tired and holding out for death. It felt impolite to expect her to start all over again.

Slowly the lights around her started to fade together, becoming a muted grey. Her bones pressed in instead of out, and her skin became smaller, tighter. She felt herself curl in, the pain in her body, she’d felt every moment since that awful day sixth-year, drained out of her.

Perhaps a second chance wouldn’t be awful? Especially if it felt this good.

She felt warm like she could take a nap. Her stomach was heavy as if she’d been drinking butterbeer for hours. Maybe she could rest for a moment. Nothing terrible was happening; she’d close her eyes for a minute.

xxxx

She woke to screaming.

Her senses told her she was still warm and well-fed, so who was ruining her well-earned rest with their screaming? She couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from, so she couldn’t hex the source.

She waited a moment and then another until she realized that the sensation of being warm was quickly being replaced with the feeling of her bones squeezing her too tightly again. Suddenly she realized the screaming wasn’t from an annoying unknown but her own throat.

She couldn’t stop crying. Why was she crying?

The feeling of being squeezed too tightly intensified, and she sobbed louder until it suddenly stopped and her whole body just released. She couldn’t make herself stop crying, but she could squirm and fidget as she tried to open her eyes against the strain of light and something wet pushing against her eyelids. She felt her body be lifted and placed gently against someone’s arms, and her face was wiped away lightly with something soft. She tried to chase that feeling with her face and heard someone laugh.

Peeling her eyelids open, she tried to see what was happening. Her first view of this new and horrible reality was her own body. Small and unscarred, there was no mistaking what she had become. Those were the chubby legs, the chubby arms and chubby hands of a newly born baby.

Bracing herself, she decided to look up at who was holding her. She prayed quickly to all the deities she could name, and a few made-up ones, that it was some stranger, some nameless muggle whom she could quietly convince to move to a small Canadian island and live in peace until the world imploded.

She looked up and immediately started wailing again.

She’d seen that face snarl at her before. The voice cooing at her had screeched about Mudbloods and blood traitors and other evils not worth mentioning. Even in her shocked and stunned state and the fact that this woman was at least thirty years younger than her portrait, Hermione knew who the woman holding her was.

Walburga Black was always unmistakable.

A gruff voice sounded from somewhere above her. “Well, Walburga, we know how she feels about you.”

The voice had Hermione trying to turn her pudgy infant neck around to identify the source. She was unsurprised but disappointed to see a younger version of the Orion Black she remembered from the Black family tree peering back at her. There was a squishy baby in his arms too.

“What shall we name them then?” Orion asked in response to Walburga’s reprimanding glare.

Walburga, who seemed to be her mother in this awful fever dream, stared into Hermione’s still screeching face. If she was stuck in this world and she didn’t get to keep her own damn name, she’d find the divinities who’d done this to her and feed them to Buckbeak.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Or rather, she tried to roll her eyes, and on account of her new baby-sized physiology, she was unable to do so. Naming your children obsessively and without fail after stars was gauche.

“You can name her,” Walburga looked up at her husband after a long moment. “She was your wish, after all.”

Hermione frowned. If Orion had somehow uprooted her existence because of a poorly made wish, there would be hell to pay the moment she could hold her own head up.

Orion tried and failed not to look too shocked at the allowance.

“Hermione then,” he murmured as he transferred Regulus into the arms of a waiting house elf. Before Walburga could protest the distinct lack of starriness to Hermione’s name, he added, “Hermione Ara Black.”

Hermione winced internally at the displeased look on Walburga’s face. Honestly, Walburga wasn’t even named after a star or constellation. She was very judgmental for someone who couldn’t hold to her own brand of bullshit.

Walburga handed Hermione off to Orion and then waved him away. “I will rest now,” she said firmly, closing her eyes and dismissing him.

Orion bounced Hermione in his arms. He walked briskly out of Walburga’s room and dismissed the house-elf eagerly following him. His face was sweet as he looked down at Hermione, whispering nonsense words as he carefully stroked her cheek.

What did she remember of Sirius’ father?

As she looked up into the lines of his face, she could trace the features that he shared with Sirius, the ones Sirius would grow into: beautiful grey eyes, an aristocratic nose, long wavy dark hair. Sirius had once confided in her while drunk, that his father wouldn’t have let him go to Azkaban without a trial if he had been alive.

Did that make him redeemable? Did she even care if any of them were redeemable, or was she content to wait until her magic settled and she could _apparate_ to the nearest uninhabited tropical island to wait out the end of humanity? These could be tomorrow’s questions.

She was getting fatigued. Being reborn as a baby was taking a lot out of her.

“You know, my dear, in arithmancy, your name little Hermione adds up to six. Sixes are for balance. Are you going to balance out your mother’s temper, dear?” Orion cooed at her while he swayed with her in his arms. She gurgled at him, unable to stop herself. Damn these baby feelings and her baby's body.

She was sleepy.

Through her half-lidded eyes, she heard Orion continue, “I prayed for you, dear. Sirius and Regulus are blessings to be sure. An heir and a spare, but you were a wish just for me.” Those words again: a wish. She was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Sleep now, darling,” Orion continued as he paced slowly up and down the hall. “You’ll meet your big brother tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes and dreamt of the waves.

xxx

Hermione Jean Granger was born to Charlie and Elizabeth Granger on September 19th, 1979. She was their only child. They wanted her desperately, and every moment of Elizabeth’s pregnancy was filled with anticipation and joy.

By all accounts, Hermione Granger was a sweet child. Precocious to be sure, but her intelligence was encouraged by her doting parents. She devoured books, asked questions, trailed after her parents to dentistry conferences around the world, and then dragged them to museums at the end of each conference day. She was a happy child if a bit spoiled, and she was wildly intelligent.

Most importantly, Hermione Granger was never taught to be anything but herself.

Hermione Ara Black was born to Walburga and Orion Black on September 19th, 1961. She was their third child. Her mother, Walburga, had already given birth to the heir and spare of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and, as such, did not need a daughter. Perhaps they could marry her off to a Malfoy? That was a problem for the 70s.

Hermione Black was not a sweet child. That’s not to say she was an unkind child. She was often just not a child at all. From the day she was born until the age of five, she did not speak a single word. She would nod at the right places, indicating she understood. She would smile if Sirius did something particularly amusing. He often did entertaining things to keep Hermione smiling. She would almost consistently frown when Walburga spoke to her. But she would not talk.

Walburga, of course, was furious. What would she do with a mute daughter? Perhaps they could send her off to the continent to keep her from embarrassing their noble family as she grew up? No one would want a bride that couldn’t order house-elves about or speak eloquently at society events!

Orion would hear nothing of it, though. It seemed Walburga’s spineless husband had grown a particularly troublesome backbone the day Hermione was born. Every time Walburga became frustrated enough with Hermione’s lack of speech that she was itching to throw a quick hex at the girl- a stinging hex, not the _cruciatus_ , she wasn’t a monster!- Orion was there to grab her arm and remind her that no one laid a hand, or in this case, a wand, on the daughter of House Black.

This continued for two years until Walburga remembered that Sirius, who was coming into his own as a troublemaker at age four, was decidedly not a daughter of House Black. When Hermione was problematic, Walburga would quickly find Sirius, who was without fail, causing trouble of his own and send a quick hex or curse his way. Her foolproof method worked perfectly for the months leading up to Hermione and Regulus’s fifth birthday.

The morning started for Walburga like any other. She woke up in her chambers. She scolded a house elf for her tea being too cold. Indeed the tea was excellent but who could deny her the simple pleasures in life. The elf went to iron his hands- good riddance. She then bathed and dressed nicely for the festivities of the day.

It was her little Regulus’s fifth birthday! Her sweet boy was to have a cake and a lovely meal followed by gifts. For a woman as utterly as unpleasant as Walburga Black, this was to be an exceptionally pleasant day.

She went downstairs to the greater living room. She then oversaw the arrangements until, at exactly noon, Orion came in with Hermione in his arms.

Walburga took a moment to look away from her busy work to greet them.

“Husband,” she said, almost politely to Orion.

She looked at Hermione.

Hermione looked at her.

She looked at Hermione a bit longer, grimaced, and bit out, “Daughter.”

Hermione stared at her. Hermione did not reply. Walburga looked away quickly discomfited.

Luckily Sirius and Regulus chose that moment to come tearing into the room. Sirius was chasing Regulus, who was shrieking in glee. Regulus tripped over the edge of a carpet and fell flat on his face. There was a moment of silence where Regulus decided whether he was hurt enough to cry.

Walburga took that time to make her own decision. She seethed, “ _Sirius Orion Black_ ,” her wand was out in less than a moment. The only thing that could ruin her pleasant day was her awful firstborn son causing a ruckus.

He’d have to be punished; “ _habena carnem_ ,” she hissed at Sirius.

The moment the words left her mouth, a high pitched voice she’d never heard before shrieked out, “No!” and suddenly, Walburga slammed against the back wall of the living room and saw stars.

xxx

Hermione knew she was fucked about a month into her new life.

She woke up the day after she was born determined to live through these early years of infancy quickly and then disappear. She’d _apparate_ to an uninhabited island and live peacefully for a decade or two until Harry was born. The day before Voldemort would come for the Potters, she’d sneak in and abscond with little Harry. Then they’d both go back to their sunny tropical island.

There would be no prophecy to fulfill, no awful world to save. Harry would grow up quietly and safely. He would live out as long of his life as he could until Magic’s death came for all of them.

This was her plan, and she was going to stick to it.

A month later, she confronted the idea that she may need a new plan. Orion was so kind and sweet and took her for strolls in the muggle park without hexing any muggles. He never raised his voice at Sirius or any of the house-elves. He told her stories about his younger days and the adventures he had in muggle London, and Hermione could not understand how she was meant to let him die.

She formed a hypothesis and set it aside for testing later. Hypothesis: she cared too much to let her newfound family die. Testing method: unknown.

She couldn’t deal with that right now. Orion was singing to her, and she didn’t want to miss the rest of his lullaby.

A year in, she decided she wouldn’t speak. If she didn’t, she couldn’t make any changes to the timeline, good or bad, and therefore she did not affect it. If anything happened, it wasn’t her fault! The logic was a little flawed, but while her mind was 22, her brain and its processing neurons were only a year old.

It wasn’t entirely her fault she was being unreasonable.

At two and a half years old, she started sneaking her way around the black family library. She could summon books with a wave of her hand, so all it took was a little careful prodding at Sirius for him to show her the quickest way around Grimmauld Place. The hidden passageways the elves lived in!

Hermione spent every night quietly tucked in the corner of the library. This kind of knowledge had been lost in the war. The Black’s library tomes on warding, temporal arithmancy, grey magic healing, and more were as good as gold bars to her. If anyone, say the house elves, ever caught her back there, well, sweet little mistress Hermione was always so kind, so quiet. What was the harm in letting her be?

She read and prepared and focused her magic around her core so that she could stabilize it earlier than her little body could grow. She waited and waited and ignored Walburga. She bid her time until she could leave and kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to accidentally call Walburga an ugly menace or any other choice words.

She was Hermione Granger, and she was getting the hell out of this place.

Then it was her fifth birthday. And Walburga couldn’t manage to keep her spells and wand away from Sirius. A flesh stripping spell? On a six-year-old? Absolutely not.

Without a thought of how her quaint plan would be affected, Hermione threw her hand out, pushing the curse back at Walburga, screaming, “No!” The added power of Hermione’s magic whipped the spell into Walburga’s body and forced her against the back wall. Over her unconscious body, the severed and preserved elf heads she so loved, spread out of over their mistress.

Fuck.

Hermione was so fucked.

xxx

Orion Black was not a fool. He was tired, a side effect of life with Walburga, but he was still no fool. There was something off about his precious daughter.

When Walburga became pregnant with Regulus, they were relieved. An heir and a spare. Their duties to their house were complete. But Orion had wanted a daughter. His youngest sister Ara, could not be replaced so easily, but a daughter could soothe the ache her death left behind. So he tore through the Black Library for some magic, some spell that would give him a chance for a daughter.

In one of the more gruesome books, hidden between a spell to cook the bones of blood traitors and a hex that curled a man's genitals inwards was a side note to a small Chinese magical enclave.

Orion went there immediately. He spent days waiting patiently to be seen by the Qiu Zhang, the chief. When finally granted an audience, he didn’t grovel per se, but he was quite close to begging the Qui Zhang for a daughter.

The Qui Zhang, Quan, was an old man. He was creeping towards a century, and his face was proof of his well-lived life. He looked at Orion and saw a man at a crossroads. Perhaps in one universe, Quan had turned Orion away.

In this one, on behalf of Magic, he gave Orion a chance.

Quan asked Orion, “What would a daughter be to the House Black?”

Orion winced. The truthful answer was not the right one. “A commodity.”

Quan nodded as if he had expected that answer. Orion wondered if he gained points or lost them for telling the truth. “What would a daughter be to you?”

Orion thought for a moment. Would she replace his dear Ara? No, that didn’t feel right. “She’d be a chance to do better,” he replied.

Quan nodded again. “I cannot simply create a daughter for you, Lord Black. Magic does not work this way.”

It was Orion’s turn to nod now. His shoulders slumped, he made to turn away. There was no point standing here in this caravan made of too bright silks and smelling too strongly of turmeric then. He had nothing to show for it. Quan held his hand up, halting him. “I cannot create a daughter for you, but I can create balance.”

“Do not speak to me in riddles,” Orion bit out. “I’ve not come here for false hope.”

Quan chuckled, and his attendants smirked. “Patience child. I ask you one thing in return for the gift of a daughter. Will you do what is required to help her bring stability?”

What kind of question was that? Orion had no desire for his daughter to be a pawn or some balancing weight. He wanted to raise a sweet summer child in the gardens of Black Manor, with lilies in her hair. But he could not say that.

“Yes.”

There was a knowing look in Quan’s eyes as if he didn’t believe Orion’s lie for a moment. “So mote it be,” he intoned, his attendants chimed in after him. “Go home, raise her well.”

Quan rose, turned, and disappeared in a cloud of rose water. Orion scowled to himself. Bloody eastern Asian wizards were always so sodding dramatic.

With nothing left to do or say, he returned to Grimmauld place and waited for seven long months. Then September 19th, more than a month early, Walburga had placed his daughter in his arms and given him leave to name her. When he looked into Hermione’s eyes, he knew that she’d never be as simple as a summer’s child, and he vowed to love her anyway.

xxx

Regulus Arcturus Black loved his little sister. She helped him with his sums and did magical things with her fingers so that it would snow in his room. Sometimes she made butterflies appear. Hermione was his twin, so she was his age, but she was older than him. She was the best sister!

xxx

Sirius Orion Black was six years old. He was a normal six-year-old boy, but he was smart! He knew his mother, Walburga, was awful. His father, Orion, was nice enough if a bit distant. Regulus, his little brother, was fun to play with. But Hermione, his little sister, was special.

Hermione wouldn’t play chase with him like Regulus or pretend to duel with him like father. Still she was always there, smiling and encouraging him silently. His mother liked to call Hermione slow or stupid or useless- only when father wasn’t around.

Sirius knew Hermione wasn’t stupid!

He’d taught her how to get around the main corridors into the library, and she snuck in there every day. She could read all the big books with the big words. He didn’t understand those books yet. During his lessons, she would sit by him and nudge him if he was doing his sums wrong. His mother said Hermione didn’t need lessons until she was older, especially since she was probably a squib.

But she wasn’t a squib!

Sometimes he’d see her wave her hands to get books down from high shelves. And she could get into anything, even if mother had declared it off-limits. Like last month, mother had confiscated his broom and hid it behind the elf heads because those shelves are heavily warded, and he couldn’t get to them. He'd complained to Hermione about it but didn’t think she’d do anything about it. She rolled her eyes a lot when Sirius told her what mother did. But a few minutes later she’d brought him his broom! Mother thought he’d managed to accidentally use magic to get his broom himself and she gave him an extra serving of dessert, but it was really Hermione who did it!

Sirius knew that Hermione was not stupid. She was his sister and she was special!

xxx

Walburga came to slowly after a whispered enervate from Orion. Best case scenario: she wouldn’t remember the last ten minutes. Worst case scenario, well:

When she opened her eyes and took in the scene before her, she knew that the line had been fucking crossed. She’d dealt with her awful daughter never speaking and always following Sirius around and somehow influencing Orion. This was too far.

Walburga was lying on a sofa with her children near her feet and Orion by her head. For a moment, she considered just leaving them all behind. Greece was lovely this time of year. But no. She was Lady Black.

“You,” she hissed at Hermione, “You dare attack me with your magic?” She pointed her wand straight at Hermione and noted with displeasure that her ire seemed to amuse the small witch rather than frighten her.

“Now, Walburga be reasonable,” Orion started.

Hermione cut him off, “Were you not going to strip Sirius of his flesh, mother?” Merlin, the chit’s voice was annoying. Delicately pitched and childish enough to seem innocent. Disgusting.

Sirius was nudging her insistently trying to quiet her. Good at least one of her children had an appropriate amount of fear.

Walburga took a deep breath. When her father first taught her to cast this spell, he told her she would really have to mean it. She doubted she’d ever mean it more.

“ _Cruciatus_ ,” she hissed at Hermione. The brat saw it coming and didn’t move or react. Once the spell hit her, her knees gave out, and her face contorted in pain, but she didn’t make a sound.

How rude.

No one reacted for a moment, and then another until Orion lunged for her wand and snapped it immediately. The spell released. Sirius quickly pulled Hermione into his arms as Regulus fluttered around them nervously.

Orion stood up and looked down at her thunderously. She’d never seen him look so murderous before. Perhaps if he’d always looked this way, she would’ve found marriage to him more enjoyable. Certainly more pleasurable.

“You dare torture my daughter,” he raged.

Walburga hiccupped with giggles. “Your daughter is a menace.”

She laughed in his face.

He looked from her crazed laughing body down to Hermione, who lay quietly in Sirius’s arms. He looked back at Walburga and shot a stupefy at her. He knelt next to Hermione and stroked her cheek. He’d seen enough little girls die at the hands of a crazy Black. His daughter would not follow the footsteps of little Ara.

“Kreacher!” Orion called.

With a sharp crack, Kreacher appeared in the living room. “Yes, Master Orion?” He asked. The house-elf was notoriously unmoved when Walburga punished Sirius or Regulus, but looked as close to angry at the sight of Hermione shivering as Orion had ever seen him.

“Send notice to my father that Walburga will be taking an extended vacation in the French chateau. She will not be leaving until Hermione reaches majority. Tell him this is non-negotiable.”

Kreacher Bowed, “Yes, Master Orion.” He popped out.

Orion carefully lifted Hermione into his arms and started walking towards her rooms. His father could take care of Walburga. Sirius and Regulus trailed behind him anxiously waiting for some form of instruction, but Orion found himself at a loss. What was he meant to do? His wife could not be trusted with his children and he had failed his daughter.

When Quan had told him to raise Hermione well, he hadn’t thought he’d have to shield her from her own mother.

As Walburga was discretely packed and shipped away to France, Orion made a promise to himself. Magic heard him.

Orion would do better for his children- for the legacy of House Black.

On September 19th, Hermione’s fifth birthday became more than a celebration of her and Regulus’s birth. In one universe, Regulus ate cake, Sirius had a piece of his upper arm stripped off, and Orion slept ashamed of himself but impotent.

In this world, Orion slept in a chair by Hermione’s bedside. He did not sleep peacefully, but in fits, as he watched his daughter breathe shallowly cuddled between her two brothers, her fingers laced tightly though Sirius’s.

Magic stirred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is such a quick update, I just couldn't stop writing. Updates will probably be twice a week after this though. I am still absolutely desperate for a beta so please please let me know if you're down! 
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. Summer, 1971

When Orion imagined his life ten years ago, this was not what he pictured. But Merlin help him, here he was. 

He was in his social office, where he usually visited with political and financial opponents. It was designed to intimidate and awe. Orion liked to keep the temperature just a few degrees below comfortable, as he always had heating charms to rely on, and it was nice to make your adversaries uncomfortable.

He was facing down his most dangerous foes.

Hermione was lounging across from him, her legs folded delicately on the leather visitors chair. She was wearing those damned muggle denims she insisted were all the rage. How did she even know what the rage in muggle London was? Sirius was seated more properly- his feet weren’t on the chair at the very least- and Regulus was standing next to his sister. His sons were doing their best not to snigger at the look on their father’s face. Traitors the lot of them. He should blast them off the family tree. 

“Papa, you're being ridiculous,” Hermione stated, ignoring his many legitimate protests. She leveled a look at him that made him _feel_ ridiculous. 

He collected himself and reminded himself that he was Lord Black and that his daughter was ten years old. 

Spreading his hands out in a placating gesture, he asked, “Darling, I just don’t understand why we need to go to muggle London for this,” he paused, grimaced, composed his face and continued, “Cirque de Soleil.” 

“Siri needs his school supplies anyway papa. We might as well make a day of it!” By now, Hermione was getting irritated. This conversation had been going in circles for ages. “I’m already upset he’s going to leave for Hogwarts. This will cheer Reggie and me up.” The sympathy card and sad eyes always made Orion fold easily. 

Regulus turned an aborted chuckle into a cough. Sirius had no such qualms and freely snickered at his father’s expense. 

“Yes, but, dear, the muggles!” She was trying to make him go grey early. There was no other explanation for it. 

She sighed. Hermione had spent the ten years learning how to balance being Hermione Granger and Hermione Black. She found it easy to revert to being a child. Her body was young, and so was her brain. Her feelings tended to scatter between those of a child and the more rational thoughts of an adult, often leaving her confused and brittle, but oh so young.

She’d realized about three years in that a little hint here, a little nudge there, a question about Great Aunt Aurora dying the day before she actually passed and suddenly, the idea that Hermione could know, could See, planted itself in her family’s mind. So when she said something must be done with utter confidence, they tended not to question her. 

It was a Slytherin trick, but she was hardly going to be sorted into Gryffindor again. Perhaps Hufflepuff? 

She tried not to use this too often. It wouldn’t do for the sweet men in her life to catch on, but she was tired of this conversation. If her papa would just accept it and move on, they’d have time to get ice cream as well.

“Papa,” she started, sighed and looked off into space for a moment. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. 

“We simply must go to muggle London  _ today_.” She tried to instill utter confidence in her words. 

Orion blinked. Once, twice. Something seemed to click in his mind. Oh. 

“Well, dear,” he started, looking down at her as if they were both in on a special secret. “I suppose we simply must.”

The boys cheered. 

“We knew you’d say yes!” Sirius crowed. 

_So easy_ , Hermione thought to herself. Men were such simple creatures. Strictly speaking, there was no reason they had to go to London today. However, Sirius had gotten his Hogwarts letter in July, and she saw another excuse to acclimate her family to muggles. It was hard to spill the blood of people you knew and understood. 

Hermione rose. “Thank you, papa,” she said sweetly, “It’s kind of you to see it my way.” 

Sirius scoffed and she whipped her head sideways to look at him suspiciously. 

Deflecting her attention from himself quickly, Sirius piped up, “Should we invite Andi and Cissy?” 

“Siri, you’re such a Hufflepuff,” Regulus giggled, “Always inviting everyone everywhere.” 

Hermione put her arm around Regulus and poked him the stomach until he was squirming away from her fingers, annoyed. “Don’t be stupid, Reggie. Sirius is going to be in Gryffindor.” 

Silence. 

Oh, bugger. Sometimes Hermione couldn’t keep straight the things she needed to be said, and the things she wanted kept quiet for the moment. 

Sirius whipped his head over to his father, looking up his eyelashes at him. It was no secret Sirius had doubts about getting in Slytherin. Orion’s face looked pained. Sirius’s shoulders slumped. 

After a moment, Orion spoke up, “Go on, then, get ready for the day children. Sirius, stay behind a moment.” He gestured for Sirius to stay seated. The twins looked at Sirius pityingly and plodded to the stairs significantly less excited than they had been a minute ago. 

Orion waited until he heard their doors slam shut upstairs. He would not put it past his daughter to eavesdrop. 

“Sirius,” he began. The boy wouldn’t look at him. “Siri,” he started again. “Son, I don’t care what house you get placed in. My mother was a Hufflepuff, you know.” At this, Sirius’s head perked up. He still looked skeptical as Orion continued, “And we know Hermione won’t be in Slytherin.” 

This prompted Sirius to smile. “She doesn’t have the proper temperament,” he quoted grandfather Arcturus.

“Exactly. It does not matter to me what house you’re sorted in. You are of House Black.” 

Sirius tilted his head to the side, much like a confused puppy dog. “But you had that look on your face,” he trailed off and grimaced with his face trying to emulate what he had seen and misread as disgust. 

Orion exhaled heavily. He hoped his son was exaggerating because that expression needed a costive and a euphoria elixir. 

“Your sister likes to think she is very clever.” 

Sirius’s eyes flashed as he protested, “Hermione is the cleverest!” Orion smiled. At least she’d have no lack of protectors in her life. 

He worried about his daughter. She knew things she shouldn’t, and yet he was certain she was not a seer. When she was six years old, she had mentioned Eugenia Jenkins and something about _‘Squib’s rights’_ in passing. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. ‘ _Squib’s rights’_ ; what did that even mean? But ten months later, the relatively unknown Jenkins was voted in as minister. He shrugged that off as a coincidence until the first Squibs rights protest began. 

Orion had downed a bottle of Odgen’s Finest and ripped through the Black Library that night. Seers were in constant danger, and Quan’s cryptic nonsense about balance and turmeric and whatnot were never far from his mind. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked over at Sirius. “Your sister didn’t have a vision about us going to muggle London, Sirius.”

Orion knew that Hermione’s eyes glazing over for a few moments wasn’t a vision. However, it was easier to let her think she was getting away with something, then to confront her before she was ready. 

Perhaps his daughter saw things that weren’t there, but they weren’t visions.

“Father, what-” 

He held his hand up to cut off Sirius’s questions. “There is no doubt she knows things she shouldn’t, son. But she is not a seer.”   


Looking at Sirius’s confused face, Orion was struck by just how  young  Sirius was. He was only eleven, but he was about to bear the weight of someone else’s safety. 

Unbeknownst to him, Hermione had once thought the same thing about another little black-haired, sweet-eyed boy. 

Sirius knew Mione knew things, but she also  _felt_ things. Some days she wouldn’t get out of bed, and those days would stretch into weeks of Kreacher delivering her meals and his father pacing outside her chambers. Those days, their home swirled with grey magic, resonating sadness through the walls, and seeping grief into the stained floors. It was like someone Hermione loved had died, and magic was mourning her loss with her. 

This was preferable to the alternative. 

Hermione was always angry. She seethed at the injustices of the world, at losses she hasn’t yet experienced, at things that weren’t there. Her anger was crucial to her existence; it wrapped around her bones in thin tendrils, tight, tighter, always a moment away from shattering them from the pressure. 

“Are you talking about her-” Sirius trailed off, not knowing what to call them. 

“Her tantrums? They’re a part of it, yes.” 

Father and son grimaced, simultaneously remembering her last tantrum. She’d gone into a frenzy of magic and violence, tearing at her skin, pulling at her hair, lashing out at anything near her as she toppled chairs, threw glasses, wrecked through walls, until her body was bruised and bloody. They’d never feared for their safety, but Hermione was most dangerous to herself. 

The Black madness was a direct result of the possessive hold their family magic had on them. 

The founder of their line, Ophelia Siyâh, had been known to carve her young lovers’ hearts out immediately after deflowering them to keep them preserved. Oberon Blak spent large swaths of the twelfth century harvesting the chest cavities and brains of Wix to physically remove their magical cores. Orion Black the Second was notorious amongst Wizarding enclaves in Germany for stealing familiars to study the bond between animal and Wix. Black family magic tended to the darker, often dangerous side of the spectrum: necromancy,  _fiendfyre_ ,  undetectable deadly poisons, induced visions on Samhain, magical sacrifices. Their magic played their impulses wildly, lending to their madness. 

Hermione did not have the Black madness. 

Orion sighed again. “Your sister knows something. Her knowledge is a gift of Magic.” Sirius’s eyes widened in pleasure at the thought of Magic itself acting on Hermione. “She hasn’t seen fit to share her knowledge with us. There’s nothing we can do to force the issue, so we must wait.” Orion shrugged his shoulders. His son didn’t like waiting. 

He leaned back in his seat. “Papa,” Sirius hadn’t called him that in ages, “So what can we do ?” 

Sometimes it surprised Orion that he and Walburga had managed to produce such  good children. 

“If she was giving orders Siri,” at this Sirius snorted. Mione was always giving orders. “She’d want you to live your life as best you can.” 

Sirius nodded. They sat together in contemplative silence until they heard the telltale stomping of Hermione’s shoes.

Hermione had plotted since she was old enough to sneak into the library. His sister had a vision for the world, and she would not stop until she had reached out and shaped it, _just_ _so._ They’d just have to support her until she remembered she was not alone. 

xxxx

** A Brief History of Seers: Past, Present, and Past **

By Gamila Chibale

Accomplished magihistorian employed by the Library of Alexandria

Excerpts from pages 13-17

_ Given that the earliest known written records of magical incantations come from 5th century B.C., it is no surprise that there are no earlier records of Seers than 8th century B.C. However, there is no doubt in this author’s mind that for as long as magic has existed, so have Seers. _

_The Greeks like to claim the first known oracle as their own. Magihistorians often protest. In early Mesopotamia, a region now known as Basara, there is evidence of an early clan known as the_ _ Heolor . This clan used strange and complex magics to create unnatural and extraordinary bonds between unusual pairs: father and son, sister and brother, grandparents and grandchildren. These forced bonds were harvested and consumed to induce hallucinations, ones that purportedly could foresee the exact mo ment of one’s death. _

_ The misnomer given to the first Greek seer documented was the Pythia. Her followers believed her visions were a gift from the Greek god Apollo. They were, in fact, a mix of animal sacrifice and  etwyrd runes. These runes were liberally applied to the bones of the sacrificed animals. Three drops of blood from the individual whose fortune is to be told is needed. These bones will then retain the  impression of the individual’s blood  and allowed the Pythia to predict their fates. _

_ A forgotten tradition in the history of seers is that of the Persian clans of  Aab Kist . They used the  anachitis _ _, which they believed called spirits up from the water, to predict which events would balance the future. This was a delicate mix of arithmancy and the genuine gift of mild foresight. These clans were well renowned for their stunningly accurate predictions. Their practices went out of fashion, however, as they become obsessed with using the elements to create balance. They used stone circles in attempts to contain the spirits of fire and water. This led to the destruction of many thousands of acres of land, including that of muggles. These clans were quietly wiped out in the twelfth century by other Wix, to prevent exposure to the mundane community. For more information about the_ _ Aab Kist and their beliefs, please refer to the book,  ** Aab Kist: Magic Coated in Oil and Other Beliefs ** **,** available only in the Library of Alexandria. _

xxxx

Hermione had been to Diagon Alley many times over her past two lives. From her first visit with Professor McGonagall, between the many dog-fights the Order had fought with Death-Eaters in the years after the Battle, to this visit, she had always found the Alley, odd. It wasn’t the loping, slanting architecture. After all, the Burrow had been her safe home for many years. It was more profound than that, as if the ambient magic she’d typically felt calmly flowing around her, had been slicked by oil. 

She shook those thoughts off and focused on licking up the edges of her sticky toffee pudding ice cream before it could drip down the side of her cone.

Narcissa was eagerly chattering about stopping at Twilfitt and Tattings. At the same time. Regulus had dragged their father by the hand to point at something in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Sirius was eagerly expounding on why he needed the newest Nimbus even though he couldn’t take it to school, or he would just _die_. 

“Uncle Orion?” Andi interrupted their chatter. She waited for him to turn to her and quietly asked, “Could the girls and I head to Twilfitt right now? I’m not too eager to look at brooms.” 

Orion chuckled and waved the girls off, before turning back to the window display. The three of them started towards Twilfitt before Andi grabbed them by the arms and dragged them sharply to the right. 

Narcissa started, “Uh, Andi,” she looked over at Hermione as if she may have answers for why her usually composed sister had pulled them into an alleyway. 

“Shut up.” 

Cissy’s head reared back quickly. She traded another wide-eyed glance with Hermione. They’d never heard Andi speak like that to them before. 

“Bollocks,” Andi sighed. “I’m sorry, Cissa, I’m just nervous.” She reached out to their hands and smiled when Cissa grabbed hers after a moment of hesitation. “I want to go to Letterment Apothecary,” she said gravely as if delivering terrible news. She was glad Bellatrix had been firmly against the idea of a day out with her sisters and younger cousins- although Andi had a feeling that Bella objected to one cousin in particular. She could not tell her older sister about this.

Hermione blinked. Oh. 

It hadn’t clicked for Narcissa yet. “Why? We can just Slug and Jigger’s and-”

Andi cut in. “No,” she said forcefully. “No one can see us there.” She took a deep breath. “I need a sixth-month supply of contraceptive potion, and you know I’m pants at potions.” 

Hermione turned to look at Narcissa’s face. Maybe it was cruel, but she was quite eager to see what the other girl was feeling. Confusion, hesitation, realization, followed by her pale skin turning cerise pink at the implication. 

“Andromeda Black,” Narcissa hissed. “Do you have a boyfriend!” 

Andi bit her lip and nodded. She was afraid of her sister’s reaction. 

A wide smile broke out on Cissy’s face. “This is so exciting,” she clapped her hands together, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Andromeda’s face was still grave. Hermione understood why. In her past life, Sirius had told her that Andromeda had run off after she graduated to marry Ted Tonks. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Narcissa. Their relationship could never recover from that. And yet, could her presence in this timeline, and the changes in the main line of the Black family have such a significant impact?

“It’s Ted Tonks, Cissa. The Hufflepuff. The Muggleborn.” 

Narcissa’s face turned speculative as Andi waited for her verdict. “Well, hold off on telling father then. Uncle won’t mind though, will he Hermione?” she asked thoughtfully, turning to their almost forgotten cousin standing off to the side. 

Hermione looked rattled to be included, but sniffed derisively, “As if. Papa might act gruff, but he’s fine with muggles.” She leaned in as if about to share a secret, “He’s replaced his firewhiskey with muggle brandy.”

The girls gasped and then giggled. 

“Come then,” Hermione commanded imperiously, dragging the two sisters by their arms towards a side street entry to Knockturn alley. “We can get your potion and tell the boys I got caught up at Flourish and Blotts.” 

The girls walked together in comfortable silence for a moment until Cissa broke it, “So, is he any good then,” she giggled and whispered, “In bed?”

xxxx

Her mother always said Andromeda had barely cried when she was born. Growing up, Andi reflected, the was the start of her silence.

Andromeda Black was often quiet. Of her sisters, Bellatrix tended to manic frenzy, and Narcissa leaned to delicately flirtatious; she, the middle child, found herself easily overlooked. Her older sister believed her passive; her father looked through her; her mother hardly looked at her. 

She met a girl the summer after third-year at a charms workshop she attended in France.

Lea Marie had a sharp smile- Andi wondered if she could cut her lips on it.

Her parents were Parisian wizarding royalty, and you could see it in the way an invisible crown perched on her dark locks and carried no defense except her stinging words. She was not an unkind girl- but sometimes, she would say something so cutting that Andi’s eyes prickled.

Lea Marie created a lip staining charm that changed perfectly to one’s skin tone based on their body pH, which also burned anyone who tried to kiss the wearer without their consent- and how ironic that a girl so cold would create something that burned. 

Andi had never fancied anyone before, but she was pretty sure the fluttering in her stomach and the way her words always piled up inside her mouth, behind her teeth, was because she fancied Lea Marie.

They kissed in a cemetery the night before Andi left for home, under a dark moonless sky. The night air bit into Andi’s skin, and as she gasped-  _oh_ \-  she pretended that Lea Marie could hear her the way no one else could.

Her fifth year, she watched quietly as Timothy Goyle walked up to a tall curly-haired Hufflepuff, tapped him on the shoulder. Goyle was cruel, and Andi watched with pity as he called the Hufflepuff a ‘ _mudblood_ ’-  “ _go back where you belong, mudblood._ ”

Andi hadn’t heard that word in years, not after father told Bellatrix to shut her mouth when she said that word in front of Uncle Orion, shortly after he became Lord Black.

She watched as the boy began smiling as he looked down at Timothy. The boy laughed, clapped Timothy on the shoulder, said,  “ _alright then, mate_ ,” and turned back to his conversation. Timothy, for his part, seemed confused enough to let the whole thing go.

Most students didn’t venture to the stacks before breakfast- it was too early in the day. Still, she knew from some delicate inquiries that some Hufflepuffs volunteered to help Madame Pince with re-shelving books. She slipped out of the dorms early the next morning and found the boy quickly enough; he was very tall. He started at her presence and before smiling toothily at her.

She felt her cheeks get tight; his smile was so wide- did his cheeks feel tight too? She asked him why he laughed at Timothy’s words. Didn’t he know how awful that word was?

He shrugged. “I didn’t grow up with that word. It can’t hurt me.” It seemed so simple to him. It wasn’t his word, his culture, what could a school-aged boy with mean words that were insignificant, words his parents wouldn’t even recognize, do to him?

His name was Theodore Tonks- Ted to his friends, Teddy to his close friends, he said that last bit with a smirk.

He sat her down and told her that his parents had moved to England from South Africa to escape the struggle of apartheid. He explained that muggles fought wars over the color of people’s skin, just like wizards fought them over the purity of their blood. He recounted being five-years-old and dropped off in a new primary school, in a new country, with a new accent none of his classmates had ever heard. They had told him to go back home. Children were cruel.

Andromeda Black had questions. She asked them.

What does your mother cook for you? What does your father do? Did Hufflepuffs really sneak into the kitchens after curfew? What words could hurt him? 

Ted answered her questions and asked his own. She answered them.

Bellatrix was becoming uncontrollable, Cissa was getting too close to that awful Malfoy boy. She was pants at potions and hated Slughorn-  _ wasn’t he just awful? _ Lea Marie was too sharp for her, but she missed the way her hair felt.

They skipped all their classes that day, as Teddy broke the Hufflepuff code of honor and snuck her into the kitchens. Over treacle tarts and hot chocolate, served to them by over-eager elves, excited to serve Master Teddy and his pretty miss, she began to fall in love with a boy who walked through the waves of rising blood politics and their tension, and never looked down except to appreciate the ocean.

Andi Black was often silent, but Teddy Tonks had always been a good listener. 

xxxx

Hermione and her family’s last stop that day was to pick up Sirius’s wand. He was a mess of nerves from his cousins’ teasing. They’d picked on him all day about how sometimes a wizard just couldn’t find a wand. If Orion wasn’t in hearing distance, they’d slip in a sly comment about wizards who couldn’t lift their wand as well. Those mostly went over Reggie’s head, but Sirius knew enough to scowl at that. 

As the group of six stepped into Ollivander’s Hermione shivered. It wasn’t his fault, but the very thought of the man was a reminder of the worst moments of her life. 

The shop was empty, but the old man had his flair for dramatics. He was probably waiting for an opportune time to step out from behind a shelf and startle them. 

Seconds later, she saw his pale eyes and scraggly beard peek out behind a stack of empty boxes. 

“Lord Black,” Garrick Ollivander said, stepping out into the light and bowing slightly to her father. “

Everyone jumped a little, even father, although he was quick to stomp down his reaction. He looked at the man sharply and waved his arm towards Sirius. “My son is here for his first wand.”

Sirius looked as if he would fall over in excitement as Ollivander nodded and had him step up, and measuring tapes floated over and under his arms. They circled his neck, his ankles, his wrists, as Ollivander kept up a constant stream of consciousness- _every wand is unique; the wand chooses the wizard; ah not maple._

He finally stepped back and over to the near-toppling stacks of wands. He grabbed an armload of them and handed the top one to Sirius.

“12 inches, elmwood and unicorn hair. Give it a wave then.”

Sirius gave the wand a sharp twist and a stream of fire sprouted from the tip. Sirius looked delighted, but Ollivander quickly grabbed it from him and replaced it with a shorter, darker wand.

“11 ½ inches, black walnut, dragon heartstring.”

Sirius waved the wand more gently this time, and nothing happened. He tried again and a small puff of smoke billowed from the tip.

Ollivander began muttering to himself-  “ _elders bountiful, chestnuts drone, dogwoods playful, ashes moan”_ \- a wand lore rhyme.

He handed Sirius, who was beginning to look discouraged, a longer, lighter wand. “13 ¾ inches, elder wood and cherry blossom core. Give it a wave, then.”

Sirius waved the wand and a bright storm of fairy lights filled the room. The girls looked around them delighted as Regulus tried to catch the twinkles.

Ollivander looked at Sirius in deep thought before speaking up softly, “Elder wood is so often the unluckiest wand. Rowan is sweeter, alas. That will be seven galleons.” He stuck his hand out, and Hermione glared at him, annoyed.

She’d studied plenty of wand lore when researching the deathly hallows and read through all of the books the Black Library had on the topic. Elder wood was tricky to master but it’s unluckiness was nothing more than a baseless superstition. Ollivander should know better than to put such thoughts in a young boy’s mind.

Her father made to pay the man and Hermione bounced on her toes, eager to leave. She was about to turn on her heel when there was a clatter as one of the boxes fell open on the ground, and a wand rolled out to stop at her feet. 

“Ah, young Ms. Black. A bit young for a wand, no?” He asked, ignoring her father’s outstretched hand full of galleons and stepping towards her. 

She stepped back. He took another step forward. The wand rolled quickly thrice and stopped just in front of her feet again. 

He bent down to lift it. “Nonetheless, the wand chooses the witch.” His pale eyes narrowed as he inspected the wand carefully. “Eleven inches, holly and Phoenix feather core.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight of the familiar and much-beloved wand. 

“Well, give it a whirl,” he directed and stuck the wand out towards her, hilt first. 

She shook her head firmly. “No, thank you.” 

Garrick Ollivander was over ninety years old and had never mistakenly matched a wizard or witch with their wand. He had also never had one say ‘no, thank you’ when handed the perfect wand as well. 

“Young lady, I am an expert wandmaker, this wand is calling to-“ Hermione cut him off.

“No. Thank you.”

She and looked towards her family. Her cousins looked confused and Regulus was still looking through his new quidditch book, thoroughly checked out from this awful interaction. 

Sirius looked as if he was going to test his new wand’s capabilities on Mr. Ollivander. Quickly trying to diffuse the situation, she turned towards her father. He looked pained but nodded at her pleading eyes. 

“She’s too young for a wand, Mr. Ollivander,” Orion stated firmly, dropping the galleons on the counter next to him. He began herding the children out the front door, not heeding the other man’s protests. “Thank you for your time.” 

Hermione scurried out, thankful, and ready to leave. She wanted to go to the circus. She was willing to do a lot to fix the future, but she could not take Harry’s wand from him. A voice whispered in the back of her mind that little Harry might never exist. She imagined herself sending an _avada_ at that voice and changed the conversation ignoring Narcissa’s quiet question about the interaction.

She heard Ollivander mutter loudly to himself in protest but didn’t look back. 

xxxx

Kendra Dumbledore was a profoundly private woman. In later years, some would say she was a muggleborn pretending elsewise- _and wouldn’t that be a shame, a muggleborn whose son loved a pureblood supremacist._ Truthfully, Kendra would’ve preferred to be muggleborn to what she was: far from home.

Kendra had a different name, once. She’d been a younger girl, safer, as her _Ama_ braided her hair into thick plaits and her brothers dunked her in the Inga River, before stomping their feet ice sharply, and lifting her up in a swirl of icy slush- the waters lapped up against chunks of ice and the sky never seemed separate from the waves. She played games with her palms flipped one over the other, with her sisters, as they practiced notice-me-not charms against foreign miners that looked at them too long.

Children always want to leave home until they can’t go back again.

Kendra had a different name once, but it’s been lost to the wind.

Albus often wondered if he could be more than his mother’s secret legacy: so much of her was so far away. She raised him on secrets and lies; the very things she did to keep her family safe, to keep Ariana safe, now drove the remaining Dumbledore family apart.

He sighed as he unconsciously patted the breast pocket, Garrick’s panicked missive was crumpled in. Being slumped in a side booth at the back of the Hog’s Head was not ideal, but the older man had been insistent on meeting there at seven.

While his brother, surely, wouldn’t kick out a paying customer, it still stung to see his last living family look him with dispassionate eyes. Aberforth was more like their mother than he would ever care to admit; both kept their grudges clutched tightly to their chests, anger kept them warm.

He looked up as Garrick bustled into the pub and headed straight to his booth. The man looked frazzled: his hair was greasy and in disarray, he wore no robes, just a simple white shirt, and some sagging lounge pants. His fingers were frantically clutching at his wand.

“Ah, Albus,” Garrick greeted, before reaching over and pulling his pint towards him. Albus greeted him in response and watched as he chugged the entire thing at once. “We need to talk about the wand you wanted me to watch for.”

xxxx

Their father held Regulus’s hand as they passed through the barrier. Sirius made to follow them with his cart, but was stopped by Hermione’s quick, “Sirius.”

Sirius winced. He loved his siblings. His little sister was his favorite person, even if she was a bit— much sometimes. He’d do anything for her, but when she started a sentence in that tone, she usually wanted him to do something that would end in Father making noises about _menaces_ and _striking them off the family tree_. He was usually fine after a few hours and some fire whiskey. Still, Sirius had been on the receiving end of the consequences of his sister’s actions enough times to pity the man. 

“Don’t make that face,” she chastised, looping her arm through his. He composed himself quickly. It wouldn’t do any good for her to sense his fear. 

_Bloodhound_ , he thought affectionately. 

“Sirius,” she started again. “I like the number three, don’t you?” 

He blinked at her. She blinked back at him. 

“Uh, yeah Mi’, it’s a good number,” he responded. His hand went up to his hair to tug on it nervously. Was he forgetting the three-month, three year, three something anniversary of someone dying or getting married or being born?

She waved the arm, not firmly grasping him in an all-encompassing gesture. “It’s the most magical number, you know? There’s balance in three- mind, body, spirit. The celts used three runes in every protection ritual. Even you, Reggie and me! Three is the best number for family, success, and _friends.”_

“Uh the celts,” he trailed off, still confused. “Ah, they did the things with stones, yeah?”

She ignored his flustering. Really it should be easier than this. Why couldn’t she just tell him that Pettigrew was a loathsome rat and he best avoid him? 

She had a list of reasons she couldn’t just blurt out the future at her family, but that list was at home, and she was at the train station. The reasons were so far away; she was tempted to disregard them. 

Shaking her head firmly to dispel that thought she looked away from him so they could cross the barrier together and walk a few paces to where their family was waiting. 

Orion swung his arm around Sirius’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. “Be well, son,” he whispered into his hair. 

He passed him off to Regulus, who was bouncing on his toes. “Don’t forget to write me, Siri!” he said, his voice muffled by where his face pressed against his brother’s day robes. 

“As if I could, Reg. You know Joghi likes you more than me.” Sirius leaned back and pointed to the large grey owl that was eyeing them impatiently. 

He turned to face Hermione. Her face had lost some of the stress it had earlier. Her eyes softened. “Be careful, Siri. I can’t lose you too.” She twisted her arms behind his back and pushed her head into his shoulder in a bruising hug.

He tucked his head into the top of her curls and breathed in deeply- _cardamom and myrrh._

Taking another deep breath, he tightened his arms around her and lifted her, twirling her in circles. 

She shrieked at the sudden movement, even as Regulus and her father laughed. “You are my least favorite sibling,” she hissed. 

He set her down gently and rocked back on his heels as if offended. “That’s still second place!” 

She growled and lunged for him, Regulus somehow getting caught in the middle of their play fighting. Sirius caught Regulus up in his arms to forcefully noogie his hair while using him as a human shield against Hermione.

Other families on the platform were staring at them as Orion tried to break them up. He was called his children monsters and demons and threatened to disinherit them while laughing. Some looked at their family of four fondly. Some sneered at their behavior. 

But this, this feeling that made Hermione’s chest feel too tight, her smile too full, her cheeks warm to touch. She had fought a war for this. For this- _She’d fight another._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this is a little late, I had to cut like 3000 words of characterization because I was worried yall would hate it. Let me know if you enjoyed what I did for Andi and I'll leave some of my extra characterization in from now on. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! Also, I'm still desperate for a beta, please please please. I'm also starting a Star Wars fanfic soon, so I'm putting the summary up here. Let me know if it sounds like something yall might like!
> 
> "In the year 5 ABY, Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa walk into a Tatooine desert storm. They walk out to a clear yellow-sun, blue-sky, 46 years earlier, with just enough time to save the galaxy. Fate has always had the strongest claim on Skywalker blood."


	4. September, 1972

Hermione clutched her wand tightly in her fingers, lost in her thoughts, as she followed her father and Regulus through the crowded platform. Her wand was not a holly wand with a phoenix feather core, as Ollivander would have no doubt preferred. Still, she’d neatly managed to come down with a dry cough the day Regulus wanted to go to Diagon Alley for school supplies, so the old wandmaker was unable to share his discontent with her.

After the boys left to buy supplies, she floo-called Grandfather Arcturus and he’d taken one look at her nervous face, raised an eyebrow and sighed, before stepping into his side of the floo. After he stepped out of Grimmauld’s fireplace, he brushed his robes off and ruffled her hair before allowing her to drag him to the lower sitting room. They’d seated themselves and when Kreacher was sufficiently satisfied with the amount of bootlicking he’d done, Grandfather looked at her severely.

“I assume you are not sick,” he said dryly.

Hermione picked at the velvet sleeve of her forest green day robe. She felt foolish: she’d survived being tortured by Bellatrix, years on the run living off berries and dried bark soup, and Professor Snape at his meanest, but she was afraid of confronting an old man and her best friend’s wand.

Worst of all, how could she explain her fear- _yes, grandfather, I’m afraid of going to Ollivander’s because I don’t want Harry Potter’s, no, no he hasn’t been born yet, yes Harry Potter’s wand?_

But Grandfather had always been accepting of her _oddities_. His mother had a touch of Seer in her, and he was accustomed to weird asks and out-of-the-blue wants. He was the least likely of the men in her life to ask too many questions.

She took a deep breath and managed to say as calmly as possible. “Will you take me out of the country to get my wand?” Grandfather looked at her for a few moments without reacting. He exhaled heavily and stood up.

“Your father is going to be very upset with us duckie,” he said as he held his hand out towards her. She grabs it tightly, bracing herself for the twist in her stomach apparating always left behind before they both found themselves in front of Tijna Wandmakers in Queensland.

The owner of Tijna was a tall young woman who introduced herself as Wiya. Unlike Ollivander, she’d asked Hermione a few questions about her magical interests- arithmancy and charms- and her non-magical interests- reading and sleeping. Wiya then took Hermione’s measurements and did an elemental affinity test on her.

Elemental affinity tests had gone out of style in Europe and North America. However, places where large indigenous magical populations still lived closely together, such as South America and Africa, they were always used to help a wizard find their wand. Muggles had their innate version of elemental affinity. Some felt calmer near the ocean, while others preferred the woods or an open field. Wix had a different way of checking affinity.

Hermione was handed four elemental stones and the one that called to her would determine her elemental affinity. Before the stones were entirely placed in her hands, she knew which one was meant to be hers, and so had Wiya.

The water stone had called to Hermione _aggressively-_ her palm felt like it was burning the moment the stone touched flesh. A few moments later she’d walked out with her wand: Gingko wood and chimera scale core.

Gingko was unusual for Western wands and denoted strong magical powers of change. It was suitable for temperamental users (Hermione winced when Wiya told her that. She did feel more erratic as a Black than she ever did as a Granger). The core was a chimera scale fragment. She was shocked Wiya had chimera scales at all: they were practically extinct, and the scales were mostly used in heirloom wands, but when she’d probed Wiya about it, the older woman had smiled sadly and changed the topic.

Grandfather took her to Marmalade’s Patisserie, and they had spent a lovely day in Wizarding Sydney before heading back to Grimmauld Place. Father had been disappointed that he wasn’t with Hermione to pick out her wand, but this wand felt good. It didn’t feel right the way her first wand did, or slimy the way Bellatrix’s wand did- just quiet and content.

The misty feeling of crossing onto the magical platform drew her out of her thoughts. She was feeling nostalgic and more than a little sentimental. She almost expected to see Harry with his skewed glasses or Ron eating something Molly packed for them.

There was a flash of red hair in her vision, and it reminded her that her boys no longer existed, and neither did Ginny or Neville or Luna.

Papa was a nervous wreck as he led Regulus further onto the platform. He was whispering advice to Reggie and kept looking over at her with tears in his eyes- she only barely kept from rolling her eyes. They stopped outside a carriage halfway through the train. Hermione stepped into her father’s arms and wrapped her arms around him.

“Write to me tonight, when you’re sorted into Ravenclaw, dear,” he whispered into her hair.

She tucked her head hard against his stomach and took in a few deep breaths. She wanted to inhale this feeling- this moment- when her brothers and father were within meters of her, and they were warm and safe.

Hermione leaned up on her tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek and whispered a quick _I love you, Papa,_ before releasing him so he could fuss over Sirius and Regulus.

She stepped back to watch as Sirius squirmed away from Papa, patting his hair down and shouted a quick goodbye over her shoulder so she could escape the maudlin farewell and get a carriage of her own. Waving behind her, she ducked away from Reggie’s outstretched arms and followed a tall, blonde wearing a yellow tie.

It could be fun being a Hufflepuff.

xxx

Lily learned to do magic, first in her dreams, long before she snuck into her mother’s dried up garden on the side of their two-story semi-detached house to speak soft nothings to the wilted flowers, gentle nonsense spells, until they perk up, little primroses and daffodils unfurling their petals, and peeking up through the overgrown wild violet weeds, seeking the moonlight.

In her dreams, she conjured up dazzling things: roses edged in pure gold, leather-bound and heavy backed copies of Jane Eyre and Great expectations, dangling pearl earrings and matching necklace sets, much like the ones she saw women wearing as she walked past the local country club on her way to the library.

She checked out the Lord of the Rings at eight years old. She spends so much time in the Shire with Bilbo and traveling down the Anduin River that she has to scrape together the ten pence fine from the coins in between the sitting room’s worn out daybed for the library fine.

Magic becomes real to her, and she tries to charm attainable goals: a new strap for her pink backpack to replace the worn one she’d tied together with string from the washing line, an unconcerned day with her family at the beach, a dinner of duck soup and cherry pie, like the one she’d had with her grandparents for her fifth birthday.

The Lincolnshire beach shore was made of sand dunes and thick patches of weeds enriched by the abundant runoff from the nearby chemical utilities’ factory plant. Still, on a rare cloudless day, the sea was bright, and the water was just warm enough that the families of the nearby village of Cokeworth could be enticed to sit in the cool sand and watch their children jaunt in the choppy waves.

On a day like this, a month before her father lost his factory job in the most aggressive set of layoffs Cokeworth had faced since the 50s, Lily and her family were seated on a thin picnic blanket watching the sunset.

She’d been making sandcastles and quietly floating seashells over from the edge of the water a few meters away, when a lean, ash haired boy walked over to her and asked if he could play. Lily smiled when he floated a stick over from a nearby patch of gray-greenery. He looked up at her nervously, as if he was expecting her to scream and run, so she held out one of the seashells she’d been playing with and turned back to finish her moat.

Severus Snape was a quiet, sullen boy who lived three streets down from Lily’s house. He spent his life dreaming of things that weren’t his. He wanted everything, but from that day on, he mostly wanted the girl who gave him a seashell and asked for nothing in return.

The stars reflected in the waves, and she wondered if she really had magic, could she freeze this moment forever, or this feeling perpetually.

Her sister, Petunia, was all pressed cotton and clean pinafores: the child her mother never needed to worry about.

Lily was scrapped knees from skidding across the field playing field hockey, and mud-stained trousers from stolen kisses behind the tuck shop. She was carefully contained chaos, the consummate poster child of the 70s, screaming anarchy as she aced her history exams and asking her father why he opposed the Electoral Law Act (he slapped her across the face for that question, though he was drunk, she wore the bruise as a badge of honor despite his shamed sober face).

Professor Minerva McGonagall arrived at her house at fifteen after-noon on Lily’s eleventh birthday. She had been eating jam cake with her mother and sister when the bell rang. Petunia had raced to open the door, Lily quick behind her, both coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of a stern-faced woman with a tall pointed witches’ hat and navy-blue robes, a twig held firmly in her hand, starkly out of place against the dull factory smoke-filled skyline of their home town.

When she walked up the stairs to sit in front of seven years’ worth of students colored in red and yellow and blue and green, she was audacious in the way she doesn’t lower her eyes shyly or fidget with her hands in her lap.

Instead, when Professor McGonagall placed the tattered too large hat on her head and the brim flopped over her eyes, Lily jerked her chin back. She was told she would do well in Slytherin, but Lily wears her ambition the way one wears under armor; it is close to her chest, well hidden from other’s in plain sight- she would prefer for it to be lost under the bulk of her thick cloak and heavy cloak and the fiery brashness of her words and hair- so she asks the hat- “I’d prefer Gryffindor, please.”

Lily Evans is many things: she is kind and courageous; she is earnest and optimistic; she is unassuming and pretty. She is easily mistaken for a simple and sweet girl, but there is nothing simple about a poor man’s daughter, and while not everyone knows this, Lily is determined to teach them.

xxx

The first time Hermione meets James Potter, she is not impressed. He clearly loves Sirius as only an only child can imprint themselves on their best friend, but he is not what she wants out of a boy with messy dark hair, round wire glasses and the Potter smile.

She’d followed the Hufflepuff onto the train and managed to make friends with Amos Diggory and a Ravenclaw, Elia Wood. They were friendly, but eventually, Amos’s resemblance to Cedric and listening to Elia talk about Quidditch was too many parallels for her to take. She quietly excused herself after making promises to say hello to them in the Great Hall, before going to the lavatories to change into her uniform.

The skirts in the 70s were _very_ long, and she felt like she was a Protestant woman traveling on the Mayflower’s maiden voyage- she was not a fan.

She’d tried staring at herself in the mirror and willing some tears into her eyes, the way actresses on the telly did when they were sad or facing a life-changing moment. She didn’t want to be on this train without Harry and Ron. Hogwarts was no longer her home, and she didn’t want to be in a drafty castle with a basilisk under the floors and a scheming headmaster sitting in his ivory tower.

Her eyes stayed dry, and the tightness in her chest didn’t fade. She smacked her hand against the sink a few times to act out her drama instead, but it just made her fingers hurt. She settled for fluffing her hair out of her face and leaving the long pieces loose and shaggy in direct contrast to the wizarding world’s women preferred sleek center-parted hair. It felt like a silly rebellion, but being a pureblood in a pureblood’s world still made her uncomfortable. She was still a mudblood.

 _One, two, three in. Four, five, six out_.

She breathed in and out until she was ready to leave the bathroom. There was nothing on this train she couldn’t handle, she told herself like a mantra.

She walked out when the nervous sweat dripping down her spine dried and immediately felt her long-suppressed battle reflexes jump to the top of her throat as she heard screaming and saw wands out.

A boy in Slytherin robes and a young girl with more strikingly red hair than even Molly Weasley were facing off against Sirius and another boy in Gryffindor robes.

Harry, she gasped to herself. She couldn’t help herself, her arms stretched out on their own accord. She pushed her way into the group to get closer to him until she noticed the little damning differences. Taller and broader, this boy was well-loved and well-fed. His glasses were sliding down his nose because of the sheer force with which he was shaking his head rather than because they were too large for his face. His skin was darker and his hair a little thicker and his jaw a bit sharper.

The real difference was in the words he was spitting.

“You smell, Snivellus. Must be the stink from the trash bin you eat from,” the boy spit out.

Her Harry was a snarky little wanker, but this poor apparition of her best friend, James Potter, was cruel.

The taller girl, the lithe redhead who could only be Lily Evans, hissed and shot out a biting jinx at James’ right robe sleeve. He cursed and tried to use his wand in his left hand to cast the anti-jinx. Hermione tried to stomp down the bitter pleasure she felt at this mean boy being inconvenienced.

She could watch this fight from the sidelines.

Snape looked a lot less like the bat of the dungeon and more like a cocky teenage boy as he shot a few hexes at Sirius that her brother blocked easily.

“Seems you’re having trouble keeping up, Black,” Snape shot at him.

Lily was still going at James aggressively, and the insults they were throwing at each other were mean, but not very clever. _This was a very dull fight_ , she thought, leaning against the door of a carriage watching them idly and thinking of the little changes they’d have to learn to be better fighters.

Severus needed to hold his wand looser in his fingers, or he’d squander prime opportunities to curse his opponent and shield himself at the same time. Lily was using curses that were too complicated and showy instead of ones that would end the fight quicker. She couldn’t even look at James fight. She kept expecting to see a quick, well-placed _expelliarmus_ followed by some sassy comment. 

Her eyes tracked them leisurely until her eyes sharpened on Snape’s wand moving in a familiar combative slash in her brother’s direction. She picked up the faint hiss of _sectumsempra_ and felt her vision rush out and white-hot rage clear into her lungs at the thought of Sirius’s blood slashing out of his abdomen.

She didn’t notice the fight was over until she felt Sirius’ hand on her wrist and his voice speaking to her quickly and under his breath.

“- okay, Hermione, hey, hey, Mi, come back,” he kept chanting at her. When her vision rushed back in, she saw Lily shooting a murderous look at her as she helped Severus up and into a different carriage.

She pushed Sirius’s hand off her wrist and scowled at her brother. She patted her right arm quickly and felt that her wand was still in her sleeve. How had none of the prefects stopped the fight? These were second years using deadly curses.

Before she could speak, James piped up, “That was wicked, mate. Good job getting Snivellus!” He was grinning at her, unaware of her body engulfing rage. She remembered that Harry had moped in the common room for weeks about his father being a bully, but to hear it and see it were different things.

“Why do you smell like that?” he asked, stepping into her space, ignoring her grimace at his closeness in the way only a teenage boy could.

“Excuse me?” she asked curtly. She saw Sirius shaking his head sharply at James out of the side of her eye. At least her brother seemed to have some common sense in him.

James nodded eagerly, mistaking the distaste on her face for confusion. “Yeah, you smell like the curry my dad makes sometimes.” She stared back into his impatient face for a moment and felt an acute sting at the pale comparison between the man she loved and this boy.

“Sirius,” she started quietly but with no room for interruption in her tone. She closed her eyes, bitter, just for a second, and continued, “Don’t let me catch you playing at battle again.”

James’ face turned annoyed, and his cheeks reddened with anger as Sirius’s face dropped, and his shoulders hunched up shamefully. “Don’t talk to him like that,” he spit at her. Hermione didn’t bother replying. She walked away to find an empty carriage to wait out the ride.

xxx

When the Scottish Highlands turned less barren and smaller villages started creeping into the window she was leaning against, Hermione cocked her head to the side and reached into herself to follow the bond she shared with Regulus. She found him in a carriage with Narcissa and a few other fourth-year Slytherins. It was good that he was meeting friends in his future house.

She didn’t like the way Lucius Malfoy’s eyes roved over her body and shorter than regulation skirt, though.

She let Cissy make her introductions and politely answered the regular questions one asked a first-year: _what house are you hoping for? do you like quidditch?_

She let the inane conversation wash over her as she stepped off the trains and followed Hagrid to the boats. Reggie was chattering with the two other first-years on their boat- Dirk Cresswell and Rabastan Lestrange. She knew the second Hogwarts came into sight though, as the chatter, hushed into silence instantaneously, and Reggie tugged at her sleeve. She closed her eyes and waited for the movement of the boat to stopped before she opened them again.

The first years bundled through the entrance halls as an unruly pack, twittering and exchanging stories of how they were going to be sorted. She already told Reggie what the sorting was like, so she watched fondly as he smiled smugly at the nervous first-years that worried over having to answer a puzzle, fight a griffin, or drink a potion.

Hermione was content to watch the familiar scene play out until she saw Professor McGonagall step out to greet them. The professor waited until the first years quieted down and began speaking.

_“Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.”_

_“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”_

She paused, looking over each of them, seemingly pausing to meet every first years’ eyes for a moment.

_“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”_

That was the exact speech she’d heard the first time, just delivered by a slightly younger version of her mentor. They were all led to the entrance of the room and lined up quietly, a nervous tinge in the air as the first-years’ eyes swiveled between Professor McGonagall and the ratty Sorting hat. When the Sorting hat started it’s song, their eyes all turned to the hat.

When the song finished up, Professor McGonagall stepped forward to call out names.

“Adams, Brian,” she called out.

A nervous boy wrung his hands as he shuffled to the stool and put on the hat.

“Hufflepuff!” the hat screamed.

The boy ran to the happily applauding and cheering Hufflepuff table and watched in awe as an older Hufflepuff charmed the previously black plain Hogwarts robes, to yellow.

“Belby, Damocles,” McGonagall called again. Reggie reached out and grabbed her hand. She squeezed it back comfortingly. The sorting was nerve-racking her first time. She understood how her twin felt. She sent reassurance over their familial bond.

She was next alphabetically, so when she heard McGonagall call out, “Black, Regulus,” she aborted her step forward halfway and stalled confused. Was this some weird wizarding thing about calling out the male twin’s name first?

Regulus sat on the stool as the hall hushed. The Black family was a big pureblood name, the most prominent one in Wizarding Britain. She knew it was considered a scandal that Sirius ended up in Gryffindor, but she and Regulus were also somewhat of a mystery to pureblood society. When it was announced that Lord Black had twins, a boy and girl, society had expected to see a set of young twins introduced to society in a few years’ time, or a betrothal contract between the Blacks and Malfoys written in stone.

Instead, Walburga Black was sent away, and while the Black boys were often seen in public with their cousins, father and grandfather, they were never formally introduced to society, very little was seen or heard about Hermione Black.

She knew her twin would end up in Slytherin, so she wasn’t worried when the hat took a few moments, and Regulus twisted his face up as if he was arguing with someone annoying.

“Slytherin!” the hat finally screamed, to the thunderous applause of the Slytherin table and the excited clapping from Sirius hollering from a sea of red and gold. He kept shoving at James and a sandy-haired boy- Remus! she thought excitedly- as if to brag- “that’s my brother!”

It was her turn.

McGonagall called out, “Black, Hermione,” and the room went silent again.

She tilted her chin up, the same way she had years ago when facing a red-headed boy with dirt on his nose. None of the people in this hall could intimidate her.

The hat was too large for her, and fell over her eyes, the same way it had the first time, but she could make out Sirius staring back at her, almost thumping his foot in excitement.

She didn’t jump when the hat began speaking in her head, but she did startle.

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Granger. Do you prefer Miss Black?”

That wasn’t a question she was interested in answering.

“You’ll need to answer it one day, dear. Balance does not come from indecision.”

She tried not to roll her eyes, realized no one could see her eyes, and then let herself roll her eyes.

‘ _Put me in Ravenclaw.’_

“No, no, that’s not how this works. I place you, despite what young future no longer, Mr. Harry Potter may have told you. His world will never exist, so whatever that version of me may have let him choose, this version will not let you do the same.”

Her blood rushed cold.

_‘What do you mean, no longer. Harry will still be born in ten years.” She hissed in her mind. It was hard to convey tone in her thoughts, but she hoped she was sending enough vitriol the hats way._

“Can’t answer all your questions right now, dear. You won’t come to visit me if I do. Now, where should we place you?” the hat trailed off.

_‘Put me in Ravenclaw.’_

This was becoming a hat stall, and that was not the way she was planning on flying under the radar.

“Well, don’t get impatient then,” the hat trailed off, and she could feel its smugness in a way hats really shouldn’t be able to radiate. She had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going.

_“No, no. I’ll set you on fire, you bloody menace.”_

“Sorry, dear,” the hat spoke soothingly in her head before he spoke up for the hall to hear, “Slytherin!”

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a minute guys. I just started this new job, and I start college again next week so I've been a mess. Hope you enjoy this. I'll be replying to everyone's wonderful comments soon.  
> The speech prof McG gives is word from word taken from the first book.  
> As always, looking for a beta.  
> Love you all, thanks for reading!


	5. October, 1972

Autumn, 1972

When Sirius was little, Grandfather would come by the house to tuck him in at night. Arcturus had activities he liked to do with each of the Black children: he took Reggie out to fly laps around the Black Manor quidditch field; he helped Andi study for potions; he and Hermione spent hours together in his study, him working while Hermione read; but with Sirius, Arcturus would come over once or twice a week, tuck him in, and tell him a bedtime story. Sirius’s favorite tale went like this:

Once upon a time, in a far, faraway land at the very edge of the Arabian Sea, there lived a young princess. Her name was Ophelia. She and her many sisters lived in a sandstone palace of orange and red walls, tall vaulted arcades and painted marble keeps. They spent summer days sucking on fresh sticky dates, throwing ripe almond fruit at one another and licking ruby-red pomegranate juice from their arms as they floated in the man-made garden rivers.

Ophelia was neither the oldest nor the youngest daughter. She was not the only son nor the smartest child. She was relatively plain compared to her dearest sister, Sheeren- who was often compared to roses, lotus flowers, jasmine plants and blood lilies- and she did not have the battle prowess of her brother Farhaad- who conquered lands so distant that even the famed Greeks knew his name- or the intelligence of her sister Ahura- whom her father loved most. 

It was easy to look past Ophelia when the bright lights of her siblings were near.

But, if you looked a little closer at her, past her gleaming black hair, over Ahura’s loud, forceful voice and away from the pearl-beaded bodice of Sheeren’s strapless wrap dresses, you might notice the way the waterfront swirled towards her bare feet. You might feel the slight breeze that seemed to lift Ophelia when she reached for an object on a shelf too tall for her. You might question how she snuck out to the markets unnoticed through the front gates.

In a time when a hint of magic could have even a princess executed, it was best for Ophelia to go unnoticed. Ophelia preferred to be overlooked.

But, still, this is Ophelia’s story.

A week before her sixteenth birthday, her father trades her and Sheeran away for the greater good. Their kingdom was at war, their soldiers were tired, and the cost of battles is always women and children. Ophelia knew this day would come- she was prepared and knew enough about her betrothed to worry little for herself. She was even a little excited to see a new land.

And yet, the kingdom’s streets stayed silent at the announcement of their princesses’ upcoming marriage for Sheeran would always be most beloved.

Sheeran’s would-be, could-be, husband was known for his heavy fists, quick temper, and many dead wives. The children in the city orphanages waited confused for Sheeran to visit, not understanding why their caretakers spoke of her in solemn tones. The shopkeepers and bazaar street sweepers tut-tutted under their breath at their poor princess’s fate. In the comfort of their homes, families whispered amongst themselves: _“what is the price of the greater good?”_

At midnight on Ophelia’s sixteenth birthday, she wakes silently. She slips quietly past her guards and as if guided by something, _other_ she walks into the sea.

She drowns.

It doesn’t hurt right away. At first, she can see underwater, and the though the waves are dark, the moon is high, and she can see the fish slipping through her outreached palms and the silky waterweeds tickling her calves. There is no sound except for the noise in her head, and for a moment, even that slips away. It is beautiful and Ophelia is the only person alive in the universe.

She is at peace.

The pain starts slowly. It’s the soles of her feet first, as the sharp edges of the shells poking out of the seafloor cut into her skin. Then it’s her eyes, as salt washes too deeply into them, and her nose as she begins to choke on the water in her throat, in her lungs, in her chest. Her head starts to pound and the pressure of the seawater beats down on her limbs, flattening and bloating her arms and legs.

Her eyes are wide open, her skin is tight and painful, and she is dying when she sees the red light and tan outstretched hand.

She almost doesn’t take it.

When she wakes on the shore in a puddle of saltwater and blood, no time has passed- the moon is as high as when she had entered the water.

Hair dripping, Ophelia tiptoes through the halls, leaving behind wet footprints that immediately dry and packs a black silk tote: a few salwar tops and bottoms, stacks of currency, her gold bangles and little gemstone hairpins, pilfered snacks from the kitchens, two daggers and a sharp metal pick- the necessities of a proper go-bag.

She creeps into Sheeren’s room and slaps her palm over her sister’s mouth when Sheeran almost screams in surprise at being woken so rudely. Under the thick veil of night, the sisters leave the palace and run together hand in hand towards the edge of the sea. They undock a small wooden floaty- barely a proper boat- and pull it to the place where Ophelia’s blood was still sinking into the sand.

There was no honor in breaking a betrothal. They were not fulfilling their duty by leaving. Many would die for their actions; the war would continue to ravage their lands and it would be the peasants and conscripted soldiers that would suffer. 

Yet, as they pushed the boat into the waves, and a sudden burst of wind carried the boat forward too quickly, neither sister looked back.

Sirius loved his Grandfather’s stories, but he was also smart enough to understand that these stories weren’t just words meant to lull him to sleep. These were lessons Grandfather thought Sirius would need as the future Lord Black.

Ophelia’s story had an obvious moral: at all costs, family first.

Sirius wondered how many Greats-Grandmother Ophelia would feel about the fact that Sirius hadn’t managed to find his sister for more than five minutes since the train to Hogwarts.

Reggie was easy to find. He was always with some of the other Slytherin first years between classes or one of the Hufflepuffs studying in the library. Sirius would plop down at the Hufflepuff library table and joke around with the ickle first years as Reggie showed off his older brother.

But his sister was never in the library, didn’t show up for most meals, and didn’t seem to use any of the typical halls in between classes.

His sister had become a ghost and Sirius was going to find out why.

XXX

“Miss Black, would you like to answer my question?” a sharp voice made her head jerk up from staring at her blank parchment to staring blankly at her Professor. 

Looking at Professor McGonagall’s face made Hermione’s chest hurt. The professor had always been a constant, steady woman- her face smooth as ice and strength as consistent of the tik-tik-tik of time- but looking at her twenty years younger with fewer wrinkles and hair out of her traditional bun, made Hermione want to cry.

It was like watching a Muggle 3-D film without wearing the special glasses- superimposed so that the experience almost felt real, but just not quite enough.

Instead of crying, Hermione chose the route less likely to be whispered about. “I don’t know the answer, Professor.” She could hear her brother trying to whisper the answer to her from the bench behind her, which was sweet but unnecessary- she had mastered first-year transfiguration more than thirty years ago. Professor McGonagall looked at her a moment, before pursing her lips and calling on a Gryffindor.

Her benchmate, Natalia Twy- “ _call me Nat, please_ ”- slid her eyes over at Hermione’s parchment, before moving slightly closer to her and moving sliding her last page of parchment onto Hermione’s stack of blank parchment. It would at least look like Hermione had been taking notes if McGonagall walked by again.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. The other girl nodded.

Something about Nat’s kindness tugged at Hermione, though. Maybe because it was the first act of kindness at Hogwarts Hermione had felt in her second life that didn’t seem to come tangled in hidden motives.

Every Slytherin first year was overly sycophantic towards her brother- as their parents no doubt instructed them to be- and the older years were either interested in her older cousins or her brothers.

(She’d stared at the fourth-year brave enough to ask her to bring Andi a rose from him for long enough that he’d scampered away without a word.)

She wasn’t unused to having people try to get to her loved ones through her- Bellatrix torturing her to get to Harry was a prime example- but after eleven years of being cherished and loved by her family for being herself, it was grating to find herself back at the start.

Nat had asked nothing of Hermione that she hadn’t offered though. Slytherins only shared their rooms with one other student and so after introducing herself that first night and sensing Hermione wanted to be left alone, Nat had smiled at her and left her to her thoughts.

Her grace reminded Hermione of Luna, and even though remembering the blonde Ravenclaw usually made Hermione’s eyes feel unusually tight, she wanted to savor that feeling.

So instead of shoving her supplies in her bag and booking it to the kitchens for lunch as she had for the past three weeks, Hermione slowly put away her stuff and waited for Nat. Instead of being outwardly surprised at Hermione’s sudden overture at friendship, the other girl simply tilted her head to the left and fell into step with her.

Hermione expected the conversation to be more difficult- walking around the castle made her feel like she was living with ghosts- but she had no history with Nat, so words flowed between them simply enough until they reached the Slytherin table. Most students were already in their seats and for a moment, she wasn’t sure where to sit, but Nat lightly grabbed Hermione’s wrist and pulled her into the seat next to hers.

They continued to talk about Nat’s home- she was American, but her Mother was British- until they were interrupted by a booming, “Mi’, Mi’ as I live and breathe! Is that my little sister dining with us commoners, I see?”

She tried not to sigh, “Sirius.” Of course, her brother would find her the moment she stepped foot into a public space. It’s not like she’d been actively avoiding him or anything.

She inclined her head towards Nat, “This is Natalia Tw-“

“I prefer Nat,” the other girl cut in. Hermione was pleased to note that Nat didn’t blush when she spoke to Sirius like other girls in her year seemed to.

Hermione nodded in acceptance and then tilted her head towards the Gryffindor table, “Isn’t your table that way, Siri?” She hoped he’d get her subtle hint and leave- people were beginning to stare.

But Sirius wasn’t much for social cues.

He plopped himself between her and Nat, swaying his shoulders side-to-side in the too small space, forcing the two girls to move over a bit. His movements shook the table a bit and the boys sitting a few plates away glared at him as a tureen of gravy upturned.

“Could you not,” Hermione hissed.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders again, threw an arm around Nat’s shoulders and stole a carrot off Hermione’s plate. “It is truly my pleasure to meet you, my dear Natalia. Your name is almost as beautiful as you are.” Nat looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Sirius’s lessons on etiquette and charm were not as effective as he liked to think. Nat’s face stayed placid for a few moments until Sirius moved his arm off her shoulder and turned away from her with a pout.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to stalk you just to see you, Mi.” He leaned closer to her and softened his voice so no one could hear them over the din of the hall. “I’m hearing things about you and I’m worried.”

Hermione made to respond. If Sirius was hearing things about her it was probably Regulus or Narcissa tattling.

He cut her off, “Reggie says you don’t know the answer to any of the questions in class. I know that’s not true. You don’t come to meals and you’ve lost weight. The circles under your eyes are getting scary Mi’!”

Sirius had clearly come prepared with his list of grievances.

She grimaced, “I’m fine Si-“

“You’re not,” he crossed his arms across his chest.

Hermione couldn’t come up with a response. What could she say?

_Oh, sorry Sirius, being at Hogwarts makes me feel like a ghost. I see Lily Evan’s red hair and look for Ginny, and I hear James Potter and want to sob for Harry._

_I can’t tell what is real anymore_.

That would go over well. Her brother’s eyes narrowed the way they did before he did something sneaky. “I guess I’ll just have to write Father, then.”

Merlin’s balls. That was a Slytherin move. Her father would not hesitate if he thought something was wrong with any of his children. She didn’t need to attract that kind of attention.

“Siri, bloody hell, I promise to come to meals more often. Okay?” She gave him her sweetest smile. He was unmoved. “And I’ll come to your quidditch tryouts this weekend.” That was her trump card and the moment she said the word ‘quidditch’ she had him hooked. He pretended to dither over his choices for a moment before jumping up and smacking a loud kiss on her cheek.

He grabbed her arm and bowed over it with an exaggerated flourish (she had to stop giving the house-elves historical romance novels, it was obviously rubbing off on Sirius). He whipped his wand out and muttered a quick _ardeatia capulum_ at a Slytherin sitting across from her.

“Love you, Mi’” he sing-songed as he skipped away to his friends, oblivious to Poppy Parkinson’s screech of outrage as she tried to stick her suddenly fire-cracking hair in a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Hermione looked over at Nat, hoping the other girl wasn’t too irritated by her brother’s behavior.

Nat sipped from her goblet and then sighed, “Really, isn’t anyone going to give him detention?”

Hermione shrugged, but secretly wondered the same thing.

XXX

James Potter did not like Hermione Black.

_Yes, Remus, I’ve only spoken to her once, but there’s something off about the bird, I’m telling you!_

He couldn’t say anything about her to Sirius, because if there was anything that made the other boy defensive, it was his sister (and didn’t that make James a little jealous).

“There’s something off about the bird!” he whispered to Remus, repeating himself for the third time that meal. He watched as Sirius practically sprinted over to the Slytherin table. “Did you see how she looks at Peter?”

Remus, ever reasonable, often irritatingly so, shrugged, “You don’t exactly like Pete either, mate. You only talk to him because he’s friends with Evans”

Remus didn’t want to agree with James and give him more ammunition against Sirius’s sister, but she did look at Peter like she wanted him dead.

When Remus first wrote home about the new friends he made in Gryffindor, his parents were thrilled until he mentioned Sirius’s last name. They warned him to be careful around the Black family. But Remus never saw the Black rage and madness people whispered about in Sirius.

He saw glints of it in Hermione’s eyes.

James wasn’t listening to Remus, too intent on glaring at Hermione’s back.

Remus sighed, “Leave her alone, James. Sirius will throttle you if you bother her.”

James only hummed back in response.

Secretly, Remus wondered if James was only so upset because he had to share Sirius’s attention now. But, James obviously didn’t mind Regulus as the boy had been invited to play Exploding Snap with them plenty.

If Remus voiced his thoughts, James would deny it, but he Remus was right. Sirius had been on his best behavior since his fight with Snape on the train to Hogwarts though and he suspected that had something to Hermione. He didn’t like it. They were only having a bit of fun. Who was she to talk to them like that?

James didn’t say anything as Sirius skipped back to their table and slid into his seat.

In between piling bangers and gravy onto his plate, Sirius looked up at the other two boys with a bright smile.

“I think the marauders need a new project!”

James raised his head excited. Remus looked interested. It had been a while since they’d done a prank.

The three boys bent their heads closer together.

“What if we could see where the professors and Filch are at any time?” Sirius whispered diabolically. “I think we need a map!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever and honestly shout out to every one who's stuck with me, I definitely suck, but I have the next few chapters plotted out and since they're all plot heavy and dialogue light, I should be able to crank them out quick!! This chapter is mostly a filler, I wanted to get some of the origins of their family magic out of the way so that we can talk about the other family members and see what plots Orion and Arcturus are up to next chapter. Also, it took me a LONG ASS TIME to figure out how I was going to do the wildest redemption arc but I finally did. So next chapter, get ready to see some Bellatrix!!!  
> Also, there should be something familiar about Natalia Twy and I'm hoping someone spots it!!
> 
> I hope every one is doing well during these crazy times! I'm applying to grad school rn and its wild how many steps there are to the process so if any one is willing to read over my chapters before I post them that would be incredible! But at the moment, I am unbeta'd (Grammarly is my savior- shoutout writing_as_tracey for suggesting it!) 
> 
> Anyway, let me know if theres anything you guys want to see more of or less of. Sending good vibes your way!!!


	6. February, 1973

Spring, 1973

Lily liked being at Hogwarts, but she _loved_ being in the Hogwarts library. Her house was always filled with tense silence- her Mum tired and weak from working the factory line all day, her Pa passed out drunk on the couch, Petunia having snuck out through the back window already- but here in the library, behind the Muggle Studies bookshelves that were rarely used, the silence was about her.

She flipped through her charms notes, trying to find her review sheets from the previous term, while she waited for Sev. He was already fifteen minutes late and she was trying not to be annoyed.

“Lils.” She heard Sev’s oh-so-charming grumbling voice, greet her.

( _and for years to come, every now and then, Lily and her friends and many, many other women, would be forced to blush to themselves and titter nervously when they thought about how truly oh-so-charming Severus’s voice would be in a markedly different situation)_

Lily marked her place in her review sheets with her finger, before raising her head and flashing a frown at his approaching form. “Pillock, you’re late.”

Severus sighed and dropped his bag into the seat across from her. “Your bloody housemates tried to corner me outside the Great Hall.”

Lily’s frown turned down deeper at the thought of the _Marauders_. What a ridiculous name.

Sev leaned across the table to tug at one of her braids. He pulled his hand back quickly and sent Lily a dark look when her hair sparked so violently that it burned his fingers.

“I’m fine. The dog’s little sister started screaming at the lot of them,” he said sticking his stinging fingers in his mouth.

Lily grimaced and apologized quickly. Severus nodded her apology off as he sat in the seat caddy-corner from her and set up his quill and ink. He’d seen Andromeda Black in the Slytherin dorms, early in the morning on weekends often enough to know how dangerously a powerful witch’s magic sparked with their emotions.

“At least someone is stopping them. None of the teachers keep Black and Potter in line!” She complained.

Severus sighed. “No one stops the old families, Lil. You know this.”

And sadly, she did know this.

When she left the stumbling grey streets of Cokeley behind, she wasn’t young enough to imagine that her life would become perfectly fair, but she also didn’t expect it to become _more_ unfair. Cokeley was a shitty town, but at least every family in their town was equally poor and hungry. In Cokeley, she was a poor drunk’s daughter, but at Hogwarts she was a mudblood.

_Which was worse?_ She wondered.

“Just because I know something doesn’t make it right.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I know that,” he stressed. “But you can’t change anything.”

Lily looked at him, dubiously. Sometimes she thought Sev had enough self-hatred for his half-blood roots to equal that three purebloods.

“No one is better than someone else for just being born, Sev,” she reminded him, knowing her words wouldn’t stick, but hoping they would regardless.

He scoffed at her in response before sliding a sheet of parchment with his spiky writing tightly scrawled in his confusing shorthand towards her.

“Look at this change for the sleeping draught I made,” he said pointing to a line that read, _‘p-f for l,’_ and effectively signaling that their conversation was over.

Lily listened to him, intently nodding her head along to his words. Her thoughts, however, kept drifting back to what Sev had said about the youngest Black girl. It was rare that the old families ever showed discord in public. But this made two times that Hermione Black had stopped her brother and his friends attacking Sev.

She’d heard from one of the first-year Gryffindors that Hermione was an average student and not very clever. Not very clever was something Lily could work with. The Black name was a powerful one, and if Lily Evans was going to change the wizarding world, having Hermione Black on her side would be helpful.

Nat Twy had invited her to sit in the greenhouse’s garden that weekend with her Slytherin and Ravenclaw friends. Lily had been planning on declining, given that the Slytherin second-years weren’t outwardly unkind to her, but they weren’t outwardly _kind_ either.

But now, maybe she’d accept. 

XXX

By the time Natalia had turned six, she had realized that most of her thoughts were not her own.

This, her mother assured her, was not a curse of the Twycross family line- as many things in her life often were- but rather a curse of being a Whitesun woman.

British wizards liked to think of themselves as the oldest and most talented wix in the world, but everyone knew magic was borne from the blood of women that belonged to the earth.

The Whitesun’s only had two girls a generation and one was sacrificed on the graves of their ancestors.

The Whitesun women had always belonged to the earth.

So, minutes after Natalia had watched as her baby sister was sacrificed, her mother turned to her and explained what a _tawaci_ was. While blood ran down her baby-fat cheeks, Natalia learned to separate the thoughts she pulled out of other people’s minds from her own.

When Nat’s father came to their sleepy town in Arizona and took her from her mother and shipped her off to Hogwarts with nothing more than a firm warning that none of her mother’s kind of behavior would be tolerated in Britain, she picked up a stray thought from his mind, “ _gods, if only she weren’t a Whitesun,”_ and for just one second she found herself wishing the same.

She’d read books about mind readers and _legimens_. They seemed to have much more fun than she did. Minds were all the same- _hunger, anger, greed._

But at Hogwarts, there was a whisper of more and less.

More because of Hermione Black. Less because of Lily Evans.

Nat had been sorted into Slytherin and kindly shuffled into a dorm room with Hermione Black. She’d not expected much from the other girl. The Blacks were famous in Britain and across the world for being one of the old. Nat figured Miss Black would be stuck-up and unkind.

But on their second week, when Nat heard the other girl repeating _‘im still a filthy mudblood’_ in her mind, smug and proud, she stopped. For the first time in years, Nat reached out and _looked_ into someone else’s mind.

Nat lived a whole life in those few seconds she was in Hermione’s head, and when Nat popped back into her own mind, she knew, _this girl will spill blood,_ and Hermione may not have known it at the time, but they were kindred spirits.

It took some time, but by Yule, Hermione agreed with Nat’s assessment.

( _hermione realized nat’s soul matched her own when she asked the other girl to help her make friends with third-year Ravenclaw dolores umbridge. nat asked her why she wanted to be friends with such a toad, and hermione spoke, without thinking, ‘so it will be easier to kill her later.’ hermione’s head had snapped up and she’s fingered her wand, thinking about casting a quick obliviate, not knowing it wouldn’t work on nat, but nat had nodded to herself and responded, ‘it is easier to get away with murder if you have access to someone’s life.’ The girls stared at each other for a minute and little tendrils of magic pulsed between them starting a bond that screamed for blood. they, then, went back to their charms homework.)_

By now, both girls knew that they were both more than a little dangerous. Hermione had detailed reasons for each murder, of course. Nat simply wanted to spill blood.

The only person they had declared off limits, though- aside from pesky little family relations and the likes of course- was Lily Evans.

Nat wanted Lily Evans alive because the other girl’s mind was silent. After a life of nothing but voices, Nat liked the silence.

But why Hermione wanted her alive was a lot more fun.

Nat had, thus, as any good friend would, taken the liberty to set up a little playdate- in later years one that would hopefully turn into a fun little ménage à trois- in the greenhouses.

She skipped towards the first floor, reminding herself to act appropriately confused that none of the other ‘invited’ Ravenclaws or Slytherins showed up.

She skidded to a stop at the sight of Hermione’s wild hair. Really, Hermione could probably leverage her brother’s friendship with the Potter Heir to get an unlimited supply of Sleakeazy’s and yet-.

“Hey, baby,” Nat greeted her, swinging her arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders.

Hermione grinned up at her, “Natalia,” she said dragging the syllables out, making her name sound too sultry for her age. “Who are we meeting here? You’re too excited, it’s putting me off.”

Nat laughed and dragged her into the greenhouse where Lily was waiting.

Lily was sitting on a picnic blanket, a basket of food- probably from the eager elves (whose magic Nat wanted to drink so badly but Hermione was so protective of)- and looked up at the sound of them.

She waved to them awkwardly.

They waved back awkwardly.

Nat dragged Hermione the rest of the way to the blanket and shoved her down to sit next to plate of cheese and biscuits.

Hermione’s mind was screaming, _‘harry’s eyes, harry’s mum, harry’s eyes, harry’s mum.’_ Nat rolled her eyes.

“Lily, this is Hermione Black,” Nat introduced them. Lily stuck her hand out for Hermione to shake and when Hermione returned the gesture without hesitation, Lily’s shoulders relaxed. She’d been expecting some kind of pureblood nonsense about touching muggleborns.

Nat rolled her eyes again. She was going to get a headache at this rate.

No one said anything.

She groaned.

The other two girls grinned at each other, familiar with Nat’s dramatics at this point. She’d drawn their friendship out of them by treating them like feral cats, but she’d inured them to her behavior by now.

“Okay, so,” she pointed at Lily, “She can cut through the restricted section’s wards like butter.” Lily tried not to blush, but her cheeks turned pink regardless. Hermione, despite her interest, laughed.

Nat pointed at Hermione, “She wants to bond a dark coven.” Hermione stopped laughing and straightened her spine suddenly at that, turning to glare at Nat.

“Oh, shut up, Hermione,” Nat hissed at Hermione, flipping her straight hair over a shoulder and piercing her with a cranky look. Two girls a coven did not make. Three, however-

She continued, “Miss Evans here hit Xavier Burke with a blood curse that makes him piss ever time he says ‘mudblood’. She doesn’t care about black magic.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up as she turned to look at Harry’s mum. It was starting to get hard for her to refer to Lily in her mind as Harry’s mum after hearing about Burke. Lily shrugged her shoulders.

Hermione tentatively asked, “You’ll do blood magic then? Dark magic?”

Lily shrugged again and nodded, “Magic is magic.” She then straightened and fixed Hermione with a sharp look. “I’m going to burn the wizarding world down and build this shit-hole back up. If that means killing a few wankers, well, they never did anything for me. Everyone- purebloods, muggleborn, creatures- is going to get a fair chance.”

Lily’s jaw was set. She expected Hermione to disagree. After all, which pureblood wanted to be treated the same as a muggleborn?

Hermione grinned, “Should we do coven rings or chains, do you reckon?”

Lily looked surprised for a second and then burst out laughing. Nat and Hermione joined in.

“Chains,” Lily answered.

Just to be contrary- she so loved chaos- Nat objected as if mortally offended, “Absolutely not, no, no, we’re doing bracelets.”

Lily and Hermione pulled a face at that and started talking over each other about why that was a dumb idea.

Nat sighed in pleasure. She couldn’t wait for Lily’s fourth-year. They’d all be old enough to go to New Mexico. The bloodletting rituals they could do under a new moon on those leylines would be incredible.

XXX

The woosh of the Floo had barely finished sounding when an infuriated voice shouted, “Have you lost your mind?”

Orion and Arcturus diverted their attention away from the cognac in their glasses and the papers they were nominally looking over to focus on Cygnus’s mishappen green head screaming from the Floo. Before either man could respond, Cygnus turned to someone outside the range of the fireplace and screamed, “I’m going over there, Druella!”

Cygnus’s head disappeared from the fireplace and moments later the man stepped out of the network and into Arcturus’s study in Black Manor. Orion sighed and shifted a sheet of parchment covered in Hermione’s tightly curled handwriting under some innocuous business income reports.

Arcturus opened his mouth to offer his son a glass of whiskey- an uninvited guest did not deserve the good cognac- but was rudely interrupted.

“You’re supporting the Bones’ family magicks bill?” Cygnus fumed throwing himself down on a lounge chair opposite Orion’s. “Those blood traitors blocked every bill Abraxas has proposed this season! The Malfoy’s are to be family, you fools!”

“Watch your mouth, son-“ Arcturus started, fuming, before Orion spoke up.

Orion unleased a layer of the compulsive magic woven into his body as was the right of every Lord Black, and said, “You forget your place, brother.”

Cygnus’s already pale face- _he really had gotten much of Melania’s looks_ , Arcturus thought to himself wistfully for a moment- turned the color of curdled milk as tendrils of magic pushed onto his core forcing him to sit still and listen.

“Those French cane wielding children will never be a part of the Black family. As if the Black magick would accept them,” Orion scoffed.

Under his breath Arcturus wryly added, “Neither would Heir Black or Lady Black for that matter.”

Orion’s lips twisted up at the corners at his father’s words. His children were more likely to help the Malfoy’s to their grave than the alter.

“Johnathon Bones is Dumbledore-worshipping fool,” Orion said. Despite the magic holding him still, Cygnus foolishly tried to nod his head, smug and in agreement.

Orion held up a hand. “But the Bones are matriarchal- as you should know, brother. Marian Bones has certainly whooped you in enough duels for you to know who holds the power in that family.”

The British Dueling Conference of 1953 was still one of Arcturus’s most treasured memories. Watching his youngest, whiniest son be thoroughly decimated by Marian Bones conferred him with enough joy to produce a patronous.

Two spots of bright red blotched up hideously on Cygnus’s face. Orion pulled his magic into himself, releasing his hold on Cygnus’s limbs and tongue.

Arcturus decided to intervene before Cygnus could be more of a hassle. It really had been a good night until his youngest son had come along. Arcturus was no longer Lord Black, but as Orion had taken over much of the research Hermione had left for them when she left for Hogwarts, he found himself taking care of the family’s financials and the myriad requests the Black cadet branches sent them.

They’d been pretending to do work while speaking and it was good to spend time with his son- the one he liked at least.

“The family magick bill would make inheritance tests a requirement Cygnus. Imagine the magicks that would be reintroduced, the vaults that would be reopened.”

Orion added, “The reclamation fee the Most Ancient and Noble Houses would receive for facilitating these reintroductions.”

Arcturus nodded in agreement.

New vaults meant new gold was brought into the British magical economy, yes, but it also meant increased work for the Goblins and the families involved in magick reintroduction rituals. There were only four Most Ancient and Noble Houses in Britain- as was the case in most regions and countries- and as such the brunt of the ritual magic required to reintroduce a family fell on these members. The Blacks would be recompensated very, very _fairly,_ for their work.

“Reintroductions for mudbloods and squibs you mean,” Cygnus spat out.

Arcturus arched an eyebrow at his son. He would never claim to be a good man. Merlin and Morgana knew he was no such thing. He’d spat at mudbloods and half-bloods for most of his life. But even without duckie’s warnings about magic falling, he could feel the way the magical world was slipping away.

Each new generation of wix was weaker than the previous and less magical children were being born each year. For Salazar’s sake! There were only 350 students at Hogwarts this year. Arcturus knew his grandchildren were strong wix- one only needed to look at Sirius’s instinctive wandless magic for that- but the Goyles were near squibs and the Parkinsons were worse!

Reintroducing families that were thought to have died out could save them, even if it meant allowing mudbloods- _muggleborns,_ Arcturus firmly reminded himself thinking of Hermione’s disappointed face every time he used the word- into their world.

“Yes,” Arcturus said firmly, staring directly into his son’s eyes.

Cygnus looked back at him. His face was turned into something ugly that Arcturus had last seen on his own father, months before he had killed himself experimenting with fiendfyre. It was half-mad and reckless.

“Then I challenge you. I call upon the Black family magick and the wills of our ancestors to bring us new leadership in these uncertain times.”

Cygnus’s words were spat out furiously, but they held a certain ineffable weight to them that pulsed through every magical being with even a drop of Black blood in them. Across the world, hundreds of wix felt a shiver down their spine as their family magicks issued a challenge.

Orion looked as shocked as Arcturus felt.

“Brother, the magicks decided to grant me the title of Lord Black already. You were there,” Orion said carefully, as if appeasing a wild animal.

Cygnus laughed, a bitter sharp sound that chilled Arcturus’s bones.

“I’m not foolish enough to challenge you, Lord Black.” Cygnus pronounced his brother’s title as if they were a curse.

Arcturus had a terrible feeling he knew where his son was hoping to lead this conversation.

Before he could stop Orion from speaking, his son foolishly asked, “Surely you don’t expect Reggie to challenge Sirius as Heir?”

Cygnus scoffed again, shaking his head wildly from side to side. His black hair was falling into his eyes and Arcturus was sharply reminded of the words every set of Black parents whispered to one another over their children’s cribs in fear: _black madness._

Cygnus sneered and mockingly continued, “Did you think no one would notice the little ring you slipped on your idiot girl’s hand?”

Orion choked on his spit and stood up angrily bracing his arms on his desk. He leaned forward as if to harm his brother, but a challenge had been issued and magick would see it through.

“I offer Bellatrix as Lady Black,” Cygnus said.

“Absolutely not,” Orion roared. Arcturus wanted to scream the same, but the family magick was pulsing around them in thick waves, practically purring its acceptance at the challenge.

Cygnus laughed, standing up and walking to the floo. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it in the fireplace, leaving after his parting shot, “I’ll let Bella know the challenge will be the day after they’re home from Hogwarts then.”

In green smoke, the other man disappeared.

Orion slumped into his chair, heavily. Both men were quiet for a long minute.

Arcturus chugged his remaining cognac.

“Has she ever even fought?” he asked, his voice weak.

Orion looked at his father in disbelief. Arcturus winced.

“She refused dueling lessons with her brothers. She called it playing at war.”

Arcturus looked up at the ornately painted and gilded ceiling. “Orion, you know, Bella’s a … little mad,” he trailed off. 

“Yes, father, thank you for that reminder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi team i am bacK!!! i'm supposed to be writing a diversity statement (any advice would be amazing) so obviously instead of doing that I churned this chapter out. 
> 
> we're getting vicious and magical now, the james/hermione action will start in a bit, but they're still super young so remember slow burn.   
> coming up we have a duel, someones gonna die, a fun sacrifical coven bonding  
> there will be tons of younger gen black family next chap and its the start of bella thriving  
> also i got some comments about hermione being the brightest witch of her age again (THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS I LOVE COMMENTS THEYRE SO HELPFUL and KIND!!!!) butttt im gonna be super real, lily is the brightest witch of their age, ive decided bella is the strongest witch, and obvi remus is the strongest wizard of their age 
> 
> bye love u all so much, stay healthy!!!


	7. June, 1973

Summer, 1973

“Is it done?” Arcturus asked his son as they met on the platform after apparating there separately. 

Orion nodded sharply once.

“When?” Arcturus asked after waving a silent _muffliato_ around them.

“July 31st.”

“And?”

“Untraceable hemlock variant.”

The train was pulling into the station now, and Arcturus began to walk away from the wall and towards the center of the platform. Orion followed him.

They craned their heads, eager to see the children, and perked up when they heard Sirius’s barking laughter.

Ten meters away, Sirius had his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a taller boy with hair that immediately outed him as a Potter. They were lugging their trunks behind them, and a sandy-haired boy followed on their left, laughing at something Sirius was saying.

Sirius suddenly jerked his head up, noticing the warmth of their magic and disentangled from the Potter boy. “Father!’ he cried excitedly. He ran forward, his trunk slowing him down slightly, and threw his arms around Orion.

Orion tucked his head into his son’s hair and was thankful that his children were not too embarrassed by their family yet, to avoid hugs in public.

“Tury!” another voice called out to them. Arcturus groaned but turned to face the voice and found himself embraced by his eldest sister. Euphemia Potter ruffled his hair, ignoring his protests.

“Effy,” Arcturus responded, fighting a reluctant smile.

The other boys reached their growing party, and Euphemia pulled her son into a long hug that the boy only fought a little.

Sirius pointed at the third boy and introduced him. “Father, this is Remus Lupin.”

Orion’s eyebrows raised slightly- _where had he heard that name before?_ Remus moved to shake his hand and murmured a polite greeting. Orion returned the gesture.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked Sirius.

Sirius gnawed on his lip for a moment.

“She’s with her,” he paused, “friend?”

James and Remus laughed, and the adults turned to them in askance.

Remus answered, “Natalia is- _well_ \- she’s a lot.”

The boys nodded in agreement and Regulus popped in from behind them to add his own two galleons.

“Nat’s coming to Black Manor!” Regulus exclaimed, hugging his Grandfather first and then his Father. He bowed slightly to his Great-Aunt, and she beamed back at him for his manners.

Orion’s eyebrows raised fully. “Is she now?” he questioned.

Reggie nodded even as Great-Aunt Effy- as she insisted on being called- fluttered around him, fixing his messy hair.

Both men hummed.

A few minutes passed as their group waited for Hermione. Remus’s parents collected him, and his mother led the boy away with promises to allow him to visit Black Manor over the holidays. The Potters eventually excused themselves, and Sirius allowed himself to be pulled into his Grandfather’s side as Reggie regaled them with tales of his Slytherin classmates.

Eventually, Hermione and a girl exactly her opposite in looks- tall and willowy with sun blonde hair and tanned skin- disembarked from the train and began walking their way.

They had changed into muggle clothes and looked somewhat out of place in the dwindling crowd of students. The other girl- Orion assumed she was Natalia- was wearing a short- _very short-_ leather skirt and a denim jacket. His daughter- he noted gratefully- was wearing red flared trousers and a black shirt that announced in bold yellow letters: “The Who: 1970.”

Ignoring his fervent desire that he had a daughter more pliable and willing to abide by pureblood clothing customs, he reached his arms out just in time for Hermione to slam into them in a hug. He clung to her, breathing in the way her hair always smelled like cardamom.

Hermione disentangled herself from him and pushed her older brother aside to hug her Grandfather. Arcturus chuckled brightly as he returned the hug.

Orion watched as Natalia ambled towards them with her trunk floating behind her.

“Papa,” Hermione introduced, waving at the other girl, “This is Natalia Twy! She’s coming home with us.”

Natalia looked over the arranged Black Family thoughtfully before winking at Regulus- who turned bright red- and greeted, “Grandfather Arcturus, my mother says hello.” Arcturus looked confused, so Natalia continued, “Come now, you must remember her? Whitesun women are difficult to forget.”

Arcturus- for the first time in Orion’s memory- turned bright red and stammered.

The boys looked on in confusion, and Hermione sent Natalia a tired glare.

Orion decided to take pity on his Father and clapped his hands. “Well, let’s get home, shall we?” he asked cocking his arm to the side for Natalia to latch on. Despite his brief moment of embarrassment, Arcturus did the same for Hermione, and the boys led them to the Floo. 

This was going to be a long summer.

XXX

“Remember to stand side-step,” Orion said sternly as he paced the length of Hermione’s room. Arcturus and Sirius both nodded in anxious agreement.

Arcturus chimed in, “Your left leg forward, duckie.”

Regulus simply continued to watch her pin her hair into two tight, manageable braids as he wrung his hands together.

Hermione shook her head side to side in a poor imitation of agreement, not bothering to speak around the bobby pins she had in between her teeth.

She absolutely would not stand side-step like some Lockhart-esque ponce.

Her response seemed to lack some of the reassurance the men were looking for.

Natalia laughed giddily, “I told you to at least pretend to care for their advice.” Nat was laid out on a lounge chair near the fireplace, unbothered to the men’s consternation.

“My acting skills are subpar,” Hermione muttered as she pinned a flyaway curl behind her ear.

Nat hummed and then looked at Orion, her gaze sharpening. She stood from where she was lounging and stepped quickly into the man’s personal bubble. Orion jerked back and very generously did not reach for his wand to hex the girl.

“Your father thinks Bellatrix’s going to kill you,” Nat said, still holding eye contact with Orion. Arcturus turned to his son and glared, annoyed that a teenage girl managed to break his occlumency shields.

Nat laughed again. Hermione’s family was such a delight to play with.

“Nat,” Hermione reprimanded, half-heartedly, because really who was she to stop her friend from her little pleasures?

“His shields are perfectly fine, Grandfather Arcturus,” Nat said, sending him a sweet smile. Arcturus and Orion sputtered as Sirius managed a smile- it wasn’t as charming on his bone-white, fearful face.

She ignored them and shot a question at Hermione. “Which one of your brothers is going to look most like your father when they’re grown?”

The Blacks were such a pretty family.

Hermione considered not answering but knew Nat would pull it out of her head anyway.

“Reggie, probably,” Hermione responded.

Nat backed away from where she was still having a delightful time discomfiting Orion and looked at Regulus.

She lowered her voice, and purred- too salaciously for her age- in Regulus’s direction, “Isn’t that exciting?”

Regulus looked close to tears.

Hermione shrugged. “I’m going to change into my dueling robes,” she said, standing; she then turned and swept into her powder room.

Orion went back to pacing; Arcturus stared at the door Hermione was behind; Sirius continued to tug at his hair.

Regulus, however, had reached the end of his considerable patience. “How can you be so calm?” he hissed at Nat. “Bella’s been Hogwarts’ dueling champion for years! She’s going to hurt my sister!”

Nat tilted her head to the left and furrowed her brow. She spent so much time in Hermione’s mind that she knew exactly how little she had to be worried about her well-being. Bellatrix was vicious and powerful- true.

But Hermione fought a bloody war and survived barely in-tact every night in her dreams.

In a voice considerably kinder than any of the men had heard in the past fortnight she’d stayed at Black Manor, she replied gently, “I know you think she lives in her books and her mind too much and not enough in the real world.” Nat paused for effect- she’d never leave behind her desire for dramatics- before continuing, “I know you’re scared your mother was right about Hermione because she never uses intentional magic around you.”

Regulus nodded miserably, not questioning how Nat knew his secret fears. The rest of the men were listening intently, but Nat ignored them, focusing on Reggie.

“Wix see magic as a part of their lives. They use it for brushing dust off their shoes, Reggie. Hermione only sees magic as a tool. So, when she cleans up her spilled ink with a rag instead of vanishing it, it’s not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t need to.”

Sirius stared at Nat; mouth gaped open in confusion. “What does that have to do with this bloody duel?” he demanded.

Nat continued to ignore Sirius and focus on Reggie. Sirius pouted, not enjoying being on the periphery of someone’s attention.

“She’s the smartest witch of _her_ time,” Nat stressed the word ‘her’ in a way that confused Regulus but didn’t clarify. “She’s also the most dangerous bitch I’ve ever met.”

 _‘Even more dangerous than my mother,’_ Nat reflected, not unkindly.

“She’s going to win,” Nat continued, reaching her hand out, palm faced up, to Reggie. Regulus took it uncertainly, and let Nat pull him to his feet. “I promise,” she finished just as Hermione entered the room wearing tight dragon hide leggings and a fitted white shirt.

“Ready then?” she asked, grinning brightly at the men who still looked slightly sick to their stomachs.

None of them nodded back, but she still tucked her hand into her Grandfather’s arm and pulled him along with her to the ritual circle in the fields behind the main manor house.

The rest of their party trudged behind them.

Hermione approach the Black family’s ritual circle and nodded politely at the required Ministry official that would report the outcome of the duel. On the opposite side of the ring, behind the guardstones, Bellatrix and her immediate family were waiting. Narcissa looked like she’d been crying.

Uncle Cygnus looked excited.

Hermione ignored them and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss her Grandfather’s cheek.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered in his ear before she fell back onto her heels and spun around to hug her brothers. Regulus held onto her for a few extra seconds before passing her off to their father.

Orion stared at his daughter and brushed a curl that had already come undone behind her ear. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, “I’d rather you be safe than be Lady Black.” Gripping her shoulders tightly, he tried not to scream in fear, “Please remember that.”

Hermione nodded in response.

She turned to face the circle again and slipped her ring off her finger. She flicked her wrist and threw the ring into the center of the ritual circle, where it landed and immediately disappeared. The stones began to spark with little white and gold flares. The old magick in them recognized the challenge and began to build the circle accordingly.

Hermione reached her palm behind her back, and Nat slipped her hand into it for a single moment before Hermione let go and stepped into the circle. Bellatrix quickly did the same, and the flares began to weave together to force a semi-translucent net around the circle.

The magic cast inside the circle would stay within, as would the duelers until their family magick had declared a winner. As more magic was cast, the net would become opaque until what happened in the circle stayed in the circle.

Bellatrix exchanged no friendly words, nor a polite bow before she began to cast. The walnut wand Hermione was unerringly and unwillingly so familiar with shot out a brutal slashing series of spells, “ _impedimenta, confrigo, oppressaorgani.”_

Hermione reflected that Bella could have started with a more polite dueler’s greeting. She stepped aside rather than bothering with a shield spell.

_(that was the first thing harry had drilled into her mind- even before his ever-so-useful expelliarmus- why waste magic on a shield spell when you could duck)_

She let her wand slid an extra inch down her wrist for the extra flexibility and raised her left arm sideways in front of her.

Hermione liked to believe people- ever ones as deranged as Bella- were interested in polite recourse, and so she tried, “Bella, wouldn’t you much rather,” Hermione trailed off as she ducked to avoid a bright red _petrificus totalus_. “Talk this out?” she finished.

Outside, Sirius managed to hear his sister’s words and dropped his head into his palms letting out a brief screech of frustration.

Bellatrix paused momentarily to look at Hermione as if she was mad. “Just bloody fight back, you bint!” she screamed. The net around them continued to weave together in thicker strands in the half-circle behind Bella.

“You don’t even want to be Lady Black!” Hermione retorted as she ducked a _reducto._

Bellatrix shot a _nebulus_ Hermione’s way, and Hermione quickly muttered the counter-spell to clear the oncoming fog.

“You think my father will just let our family’s name be dragged down with mudbloods and blood-traitors?” Bellatrix shrieked indignantly. Bellatrix sent a bright purple streak- _scalpere cutre-_ at Hermione and managed to cut her left arm open to the bone. She grinned viciously when she saw the white shirt sliced open and stained bright red with Hermione’s blood.

“Blood will out, cousin dearest,” Bella taunted Hermione. Her voice was disturbingly reminiscent of the way she taunted Sirius at the Ministry.

Hermione stumbled back a step and braced herself on her right foot. Bellatrix shot off a swinging array of hexes and managed to hit Hermione’s ribs with a sickly yellow-green colored _briseadh._

She felt three of her ribs collapse and took in a shaky breath but straightened her spine.

She had not raised her wand to harm another in twelve years. Hermione was not willing to change that for Bellatrix. The bitch had taken too much from her already.

“When our lord rises, the Black’s will rise, and I,” Bellatrix gestured to herself grandly, “Will stand beside him as Lady Black.”

Bellatrix grinned, lopsided and too-wide, at Hermione and shrilled, “ _Crucio.”_ Hermione saw the red streak coming towards her in slow-motion and knew she should duck. But something about Bellatrix’s unbound hair, the harsh treble of her voice, the very spell that she saw in her nightmares coming from the same wand, made her strike her wand upwards and do something hauntingly reminiscent of Harry.

Hermione caught the incoming spell on the tip of her wand and slammed her bleeding left arm outwards, the sheer force of her magic pushing Bellatrix backward. The spell was at the tip of Hermione’s wand, tautly strung between the two duelers. There was the faint scent of burning skin, and Hermione realized with a start that her wand was burning her hand.

Hermione conjured a wave of cursed water and swung it at Bellatrix’s legs, hoping to force Bellatrix to drop the spell, but even as the older girl slammed into a guard stone with a sickening crack, she held tight.

Both duelers were locked in place, and the trilling vibrato between their wands became louder until the ritual circle was filled with a red haze.

Hermione held her wand as tightly as possible, willing her magic to push the curse back, until the middle of the red haze began to thicken.

“Hey Mione,” a beloved voice spoke from her right. Hermione dropped her wand suddenly- something Lily would scold her for later- and turned to Harry.

She reached her hand out and tried to touch him. “Harry!” she half-sobbed, shocked when her hand met his solid palm and their fingers curled together.

“I’ve missed you,” Hermione said, through her tears.

Harry chuckled and replied, “I’ve been here all along.”

She laughed with him at his imitation of Dumbledore. “Seven more years!” she exclaimed, trying to find the brightness in their paradox.

Harry’s smile dropped, and he turned sheepish. She recognized the look. He used to widen his eyes that way before asking for help on an essay he hadn’t started that was due the next day. He knew he was about to annoy her.

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione hissed. “Seven years, right?”

He brought his hands up in surrender, not letting go of her hand in the movement. “The world doesn’t need two chosen ones, Mione.”

Hermione sniffled, the Sorting Hat’s odd words coming to mind like a terrible prophecy.

“I don’t know how to live without you,” she admitted.

_(if Harry heard her say ‘love’ instead, he’d never tell)_

“I’ll never leave you,” he said, pulling their joint hands to his mouth and kissing her knuckles.

Hermione reached out to hug him, when a yellow light shot from behind her and cut into their joint hands. Harry smiled at her weakly, kissed her knuckles again, and faded into the red haze again.

Hermione turned and shrieked in anger.

“You absolute crazy bitch,” Hermione waved her hand in a circular motion. The cursed water rose in the air forming a sheet between her and Bellatrix. She pulled her fingers into a tight fist and a large sphere of ice formed in midair. With a flick of her wrist, her wand slid back into its holster.

“Your lord,” Hermione spat the words out as if they tasted particularly sour. She thrust her hands out until they were an inch away from the ice, “Is a half-blood bastard,” Hermione spread her fingers out again and Bellatrix watched in horror as the ice sphere changed into thin blades and shot towards her in a split second. “With unresolved daddy issues!” Hermione finished just as blades of ice shot all throughout Bellatrix’s body, save her head and neck.

Bellatrix howled in pain.

Hermione walked the five meters between them, slowly, with an inappropriate sense of giddiness.

When she reached Bellatrix, she used her magic to pull one of the icicles wedged in Bella’s stomach out and held it to the girl’s throat.

“Now, Bella-bitch,” Nat would like that nickname, Hermione mused. “We seem to be at an impasse.”

Bellatrix spat at her with admirable strength for someone so bloody.

Hermione tsk-ed.

“You can swear fealty to me,” Hermione pressed the icicle into Bella’s pulse point, “Or you can die.”

Bellatrix panted in rage. She seemed to consider death. 

“Tick tick,” Hermione goaded.

Bellatrix moaned in pain and breathed out a string of curse words.

“Fealty,” she spat. “Just let me go.”

Hermione laughed, harsh and broken. “Nope. I think you should swear it in this circle.”

An oath inside a family ritual circle would force Bellatrix to stand by not only the words of an oath but the spirit as well. She was well aware that there were ways to work around a spoken oath- Severus Snape came to mind.

Bellatrix screeched again.

“On my blood, my magic, my life, I swear an oath of fealty to you, our Lady Black, from this day to magick’s last,” Bellatrix hissed.

Hermione felt a weight on her left ring finger, as an unassuming gold ring with a solitaire black diamond fit itself back where it belonged. The magic in the circle’s net began to fade into the circle filling Hermione with its possessive, unyielding strength.

The onlookers, who’d been impatiently waiting as the circle turned opaque and they were unable to see inside, gasped as they saw Bellatrix’s broken figure against a guardstone and Hermione a meter away sobbing.

XXX

“Ah, Minerva,” Albus beamed as she entered his office with a stack of parchment. He stood and waved her into a seat as he walked to a globe and popped it open. He pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey, but at her glare, he replaced it and pulled out a bottle of Balvenie.

“Whiskey snob,” he joked as he served them generous pours and settled back in his seat.

She threw her head back and laughed, her hair loose from her usual bun. “Sot,” she shot back.

Albus didn’t dispute the label but raised his glass in salute.

They both sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the fine whiskey.

Eventually, Albus inquired, “Have the yearly reports been tabulated?”

Minerva sighed tiredly. “I’ve finished all except defense.”

Albus understood her fatigue. The defense position had been a problem since 1945. With a wave of his hand, their glasses were topped off. They would need to be properly drunk for this next conversation.

“Well,” Albus started hesitantly. Minerva sent him a look that would have any student quivering. He soldiered on valiantly. “We do have an _interesting_ offer for a defense professor.”

Minerva chugged the newly filled glass of whiskey, annoyed that she couldn’t savor it, but Albus, clearly wanting her in a good mood, was quick to fill it again.

“Who then?” she asked sharply. Albus’s definition of _‘interesting’_ usually resulted in an abundance of paperwork.

“Arcturus Black.”

Minerva cocked her head to the side, wondering if her alcohol tolerance had dramatically shot down in the past few weeks.

“Pardon?” she demanded.

This is when a smarter man would reconsider what he had said and change his words. Albus Dumbledore was many things- a genius, a leader, a revolutionary- but he was also a foolish Gryffindor.

“He’s the only applicant!” Albus admitted hands raised in supplication. Minerva’s wandless stinging hexes _hurt._

She brought her hands to her forehand and pushed her palms into her eyes, trying to stave off the sudden headache.

“You want Arcturus Black teaching here? In _these_ time?” Neither of them had to clarify what kind of times she was referring to.

Albus paused. “Arcturus has never been outwardly supportive of the pure-blood agenda.”

Minerva considered throwing her whiskey at his head but decided that would be a waste of excellent alcohol. Instead, she waved her wand and pulled the now half-full bottle into her hand. She took a sip straight from the bottle and dared Albus to comment.

Albus quietly mourned the loss of a 700-galleon bottle of whiskey.

“I’ve never forgiven him for not standing with you against Grindelwald. Perhaps Elphinstone would still,” she trailed off. 

“Minerva, I could have done more, just the same as Arcturus.”

Her eyes hardened. She leaned forward and slammed her palm to the table. “The old families have a duty to us!”

“As do I,” he beseeched, reaching out to grab her hand.

Minerva closed her eyes for a long moment and then stood suddenly. She squeezed Albus’s hand and said, “I’ve forgiven you.”

And then: “Hire him; perhaps he can keep his grandson in line.”

With one last long look at Albus, she walked out of his office slowly, only stumbling once. Albus made a mental note to have an elf bring her a hangover potion in the morning.

He sighed and pulled a small drawer open. He activated a rune set to his magical signature and a small coin popped out. He rubbed his finger against the faded symbol of the Hallows and felt his chest pinch tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!  
> I'm back! I know I promised there would be a coven ritual this chapter but i wanted to fit harry in and so the girls got bumped to the next chap :/  
> hope you guys like it! i got some advice to throw in more action and less characterization this chap so please please please comment and lmk what you thinK!  
> next chapter is gonna be the ritual bonding, house-elves, and james potter is officially formally introduced (his own characterization intro)  
> please comment/review/fav idk send me love  
> also!!! tbh hermione isn’t going to be super likeable at points- she’s a war vet fighting another war she has ptsd and she’s mentally unstable- in later chapters there’s going to be trauma/trauma recovery self harm suicidal ideation and a whole heap of other mental health issues that are like the realistic result of her life...   
> sending good vibes and love your way!!!


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